


Soft Shock

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred has been stressed out lately, and Francis decides to help him in the best way he can think of. Of course, the aftermath doesn't go quite as he'd planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Hetalia kink meme and then reposted to LJ January 22, 2011. 
> 
> The prompt was for France/America where France accidentally takes America's virginity, and when France finds out he has to do a "re-do".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis notes the problem, and sets the stage to solve it.

  
“It would appear,” Francis said, as means of making his presence known, “that you are, as you say, ‘under the weather.’”  
  
It didn’t take an observant person to see that this was the case, for Alfred. Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before returning his attention to the wall where he’d currently been resting his forehead, slumping forward as if expecting the wall would swallow him up, or at least provide some comfort.  
  
Francis sniffed at the dismissal, and slid up to Alfred’s side, his fingers curling around the boy’s shoulder. Alfred didn’t shrug off his touch, and under many typical circumstances (usually involving similar circumstances with Arthur or Antonio), Francis would take that as invitation to slide his hand down backs, to, as they say, appreciate the curves and nuances of bodies.  
  
But Alfred just stared miserably at the wall, frowning, not even noticing that Francis was in prime position to grope him.  
  
“ _Mon cher_?” Francis asked, because really, it was no fun not to get a reaction from someone, and the boy’s lack of cheerfulness was a bit disconcerting on a few levels. The boy was sunshine on any given day, even on his off days, and seeing him in a mood that seemed almost reminiscent of Arthur’s rainy day moods did not sit well with France. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulder, in comfort, and asked, “Is something on your mind?”  
  
“Oh, no,” Alfred said, Francis’ words seeming to snap him out of whatever thought he’d gotten stuck in. He blinked a few times and straightened his back, turning his head to look at Francis. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach those wide blue eyes of his, and even if it had, Francis was not easy to fool. “I, uh,” Alfred continued, shifting almost uncomfortably. “I just got a lot on my mind, you know.”  
  
“With your economy and politics, _oui_?” Francis asked, because upon closer inspection it did seem like the kind of mood Alfred got in occasionally—it was the only kind of disarray that could breach Alfred’s contagious cheerfulness, usually.  
  
“ _Oui_ —I mean, yeah. Yeah,” Alfred said, and shrugged for some semblance of nonchalance. Francis, of course, did not miss the way that Alfred’s shoulders tensed, and the way that his jaw clenched when he smiled. For just a moment, but enough that Francis’ keen eyes caught it. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Alfred continued, and waved his hand in a dismissive manner, even managed a small laugh. “Just kind of tiring, you know?”  
  
“But of course,” Francis agreed, hand still on Alfred’s shoulder. He shifted closer, placing his other hand on Alfred’s other shoulder. “You just seemed rather distracted, _mon petit chou._ ”  
  
“Did I?” Alfred asked, sounding rather mystified by this, and Francis could see the way even now his thoughts were wandering. They lapsed into a stilled silence, when Alfred continued to look far away, internally organizing and reassessing the shifts in economic flow and political power, something that often left many countries nauseous for weeks, but only gave Alfred mild stomach pains every so often. He’d grown remarkably adept at hiding it and bearing it, mostly, Francis reasoned, because the boy was so strong. But Francis hadn’t lived for centuries, surrounded by ridiculous neighbors, for nothing. He knew how to decode and translate such facial expressions and dismissals in his fellow nations, and no matter how strong, Alfred was no different. The boy was tired, weary, and most of all: discouraged.  
  
And a discouraged Alfred was something that no nation should have to see. Even if the boy’s exuberance and bravado could be nothing short of annoying for other, well-meaning nations, it was still disconcerting to see a _morose_ Alfred, of all things.  
  
“Why don’t you tell your big brother all about it?” Francis said with a purr and a laugh, and squeezed Alfred’s shoulders.  
  
Alfred, oblivious boy that he was, only laughed. Francis knew that the density of the boy’s mind was not due to stupidity, as Arthur often griped whenever the two were fighting during world meetings, but rather because Alfred chose not to pay attention, consciously. Francis could not fathom the reasons why someone would purposefully take on projected stupidity, but he reasoned that Alfred, intelligent, astute boy that he _could_ be, had good reasons for it. That didn’t stop Francis from being frustrated when Alfred refused to pick up on hints that any sensible person would perceive at once.  
  
So he massaged Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred just continued that slightly strained smile.  
  
“I dunno,” Alfred said, and wasn’t stepping away from the way Francis touched his shoulders, so Francis kept doing it. “It’s not that big of a deal.”  
  
“You seem as if you are going through tough times, _mon lapin_.”  
  
“I’m not a bunny,” Alfred muttered absently, as if not even aware that he’d translated the French. Francis didn’t say anything in reply, since it seemed that Alfred had more to say. Despite the fact that Alfred calling a rabbit _bunny_ was oddly endearing. “I’m not. Going through tough times, I mean,” Alfred defended after a long enough pause that proved just the opposite, if the slight shift in Alfred’s eyes was any indication. “I’m just stressed out. Ha ha. Everyone goes through that, right? Right.”  
  
The way Alfred was shifting from foot to foot was very much like a nervous rabbit. Francis had never found a pet name more endearing before.  
  
“ _Mais, bien sûr,_ ” Francis agreed. “But even so, _mon lapin_ ,” he added, and lifted one hand from Alfred’s shoulder to brush his thumb along Alfred’s bottom lip, “you are not very good at hiding when you are distressed. I believe it is so bad that even Feliciano may suspect something. And it would not do for you to worry Arthur and Mathieu, _oui_?”  
  
“Arthur doesn’t worry,” Alfred said with a roll of his eyes. “And Matty’s got nothing to worry about, anyway. You don’t gotta be so insistent, Francis, geez.”  
  
Francis just gave him a small smile. “Excuse my intrusion, then.”  
  
He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders again, and leaned in close, his mouth near Alfred’s ear as he whispered, “But big brother is not easily fooled by your smiles. You are unhappy. _Je crois que c’est vrai._ ”  
  
And with that he stepped back, lifted his hand to pat Alfred on the cheek, and sauntered away. The meeting was going to begin soon. As he walked away, he could feel Alfred’s eyes on his back and he smiled to himself. Truly, the boy was silly to think that because of how the other nations combated his _political_ style, they were somehow incapable of worrying over _him_. The last few years had been bad for Alfred, everyone could see it. It’d been bad for everyone. Even if they didn’t approve of many of his actions and his stand on things, that did not mean that they themselves were incapable of caring for the boy in question.  
  
Shortly after Francis took his seat beside Arthur at the large table for the world meeting, Alfred toddled in, looking distant, but smiling when he was greeted by his brother, and shortly afterward by Kiku. Francis rested his chin against the palm of his hand, leaning against the table, and watched Alfred for a while. Once the boy seemed to have settled, and his conversation with Kiku seemed lively enough that he momentarily forgot his distress, Francis slanted his eyes towards Arthur, who was making a valiant, Herculean effort not to pay Francis any attention as he flipped through his notes. He was presenting today, and kept muttering things to himself.  
  
But apparently Francis was staring at him for too long because suddenly Arthur looked up, his expression sharp. “What are you looking at, you damn frog?”  
  
“And a good morning to you, too, _Ma chère Angleterre,_ ” Francis said with a sigh, giving him a sultry smile. “And it is quite obvious that I am looking at you.”  
  
“Stop it,” Arthur said, his thick eyebrows slanting downward as he glared at Francis. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it at once before I punch that smile off your face.”  
  
Francis laughed and shrugged, far too used to Arthur’s reaction towards him. Should the day ever come when Arthur didn’t greet him with some kind of disdain, Francis would not know what to do with himself. In the meantime, he satisfied his daily dose of “being ignored by my cute neighbor” by sliding his hand beneath Arthur’s jacket and sliding down to cup his backside. The reaction was always half the fun, and Arthur’s reactions never failed to satisfy.  
  
“YOU FUCKING—!” Arthur choked, and seemed unable to think of a proper insult as he flew to his feet and dove at Francis, wielding his pen as if he were about to stab Francis in the forehead (and he probably would, if Francis were not so adept at holding the raging nation off).  
  
The North American brothers were naturally the ones to break them up, Alfred grabbing Arthur by the back of his suit, fisting his large hand around Arthur’s collar and pulling him away from Francis. Mathew, far gentler in his treatment of their former caretakers, helped Francis to his feet, and dusted off his suit jacket carefully.  
  
Arthur, meanwhile, was seething, and it was a good thing it was Alfred who was holding him, because only Alfred who the capacity to hold Arthur back from flinging himself at Francis again.  
  
“Whoooa, calm down, old man,” Alfred said, and even shook Arthur a little, as if that would pacify the red-faced man. “Save it for the bedroom or something, ha ha!”  
  
Arthur shouted out some harsh words that were enough to make any sailor blush, and tried to break out of Alfred’s (very firm) hold. Francis put on great airs to cover Matthew’s ears. Matthew, for his part, didn’t seem surprised by Arthur’s words, and simply had that look of long-suffering he’d adopted since the middle of the twentieth century, when he realized that he had to put up with these three’s antics. His look was nothing short of deadpan.  
  
“Alfred, dearest, gentle Alfred,” Francis said with a dramatic sigh, “You should know by now that our dear Arthur refuses to let me take him to bed. He cites his everlasting hatred for me, but even you should know it’s all a clever ruse.”  
  
Alfred laughed again, probably just because Arthur’s reactions were hilarious, and at Francis’ words, Arthur began thrashing and making a grab for a chair that he could chuck at Francis’ head. Francis was not so cruel as to hide behind Matthew, but he did not protest when Matthew did step in front of him, trying to sooth Arthur’s many ruffled feathers.  
  
“What did you even do to him?” Alfred asked over Arthur’s flailing shoulder.  
  
“Stop acting as if I’m not here!” Arthur protested.  
  
“Arthur…” Matthew said, holding out his hands in a pacifying manner. “You know that Francis doesn’t mean it…”  
  
“Oh, but I do,” Francis said primly.  
  
Matthew looked over his shoulder at Francis and the look he gave him could have withered fresh-cut flowers. Francis laughed and gave his most charming smile to the boy, who only rolled his eyes absently before turning his attention to Arthur.  
  
“And you sweet brothers should know how cruelly Arthur treats me,” Francis continued before Matthew could resume his attempts to soothe Arthur. “I was merely looking at him, appreciating the advantages of his body, and he launched at me, completely unprovoked.”  
  
“ _You groped me, you—!_ ”  
  
“Completely unprovoked,” Francis interrupted with a sad sigh.  
  
Alfred and Matthew exchanged looks, that kind of hidden language the twins seemed to share. Francis envied it sometimes, but mostly he just thought it was cute the way the two seemed to intrinsically understand each other, even without words. Arthur, for the most part, seemed to be deflating in Alfred’s death-grip, only because fighting Francis was so exhausting. And he’d probably remembered that he wasn’t fully prepared for his presentation. As soon as he slumped in Alfred’s arms, the young nation released his former caretaker and Arthur dusted himself off, adjusting his lapels.  
  
“I hate you,” he said, primly and with a disdainful sniff.  
  
Francis laughed and slid up to Matthew and Alfred’s sides, curling his hand along Matthew’s lower back and pressing his hip up against Alfred. Neither boy retreated from the touches, mostly because they were far too used to Francis’ forms of affection.  
  
“Your words hurt me, Arthur,” Francis drawled. “But luckily I have the love of these sweet boys to warm my broken heart.”  
  
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Francis, collected his papers, kicked his chair in, and stalked off towards the podium—undoubtedly to speak with Ludwig about either his presentation, or permanently rearranging seat arrangements so he never had to sit beside Francis again.  
  
“Did you really grope him?” Matthew asked, giving him a sidelong look.  
  
“If you’d ever felt his backside, Mathieu, you would understand why I must always touch it,” Francis said with a sigh.  
  
Alfred was giving him a slightly bewildered look. Matthew was rolling his eyes with another long-suffering sigh.  
  
“Though,” Francis drawled, meeting Matthew’s eyes calmly, and smiling that sultry smile, before grasping Alfred’s hand and pulling him so that the two brothers stood side by side. “I am quite sure yours feel nice as well, shall big brother investigate?”  
  
Alfred’s eyes widened, and it seemed that finally something settled in that head of his, because his cheeks turned bright red. Matthew, however, sighed and slapped Francis’ hands away before he could accost him or his brother.  
  
“That won’t be necessary, Francis,” Matthew said, and touched his brother’s elbow. “We should probably get ready for the presentation.”  
  
Alfred and Matthew exchanged another look, still no words passing, before Alfred nodded. “Uh. Right.”  
  
The two walked away after saying their goodbyes to Francis, and Francis sighed. Such bad luck. He slanted his eyes away and caught sight of Antonio, and decided to pay him a visit. The visit was so lovely that Lovino took the time away from glaring at Ludwig standing so near Feliciano and directed his death glare towards Francis instead.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Mathieu,” Francis greeted during the next break. Matthew looked up from where he was pouring himself some coffee.  
  
“Hello, Francis,” Matthew greeted, and held out the cup to him. Francis shook his head and Matthew took a sip of the coffee instead.  
  
“I wondered if I may have a word with you,” Francis drawled, switching to French as Arthur ambled by, giving them a suspicious look—the French always bothered Arthur, and Francis was never one to let an opportunity slip by. Even if he suspected Matthew preferred English. Francis’s hand touched Matthew’s elbow. Matthew didn’t quite react to the touch, but he did nod and take another sip of his coffee.  
  
“What about?”  
  
Francis tilted his head to the side, towards the emptying world conference room. Matthew understood his request, and they waited until the rest of the nations filed out before going back in, where they could be alone.  
  
Matthew kept drinking his coffee, and the two stood in a comfortable silence.  
  
“I wonder if you might spend more time with Alfred,” Francis said, without preamble.  
  
Matthew looked up at him over the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup, blinking a few times. He looked so remarkably like Alfred sometimes, or perhaps Alfred looked remarkably like Matthew. It was hard to know for sure, but Francis couldn’t help but smile at him, endeared by such a bewildered expression.  
  
“He’s visiting me next week,” Matthew said. “Why do you say that, though?”  
  
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Francis said with a small nod. “He is your twin, after all.”  
  
“Probably,” Matthew said, cautiously, pressing the cup to his lips and tilting the cup up. He wasn’t actually drinking, though, just letting the coffee press against his lips—feigned drinking. He watched Francis. “You’ve noticed, too.”  
  
“I believe Arthur has, as well, though he’d be loathed to admit he’s worried,” Francis agreed.  
  
“Probably,” Matthew said again, taking the cup away from his mouth. He swirled the coffee around. “Alfred doesn’t really like to talk about it.”  
  
“Is it his economy?” Francis asked.  
  
Matthew looked down, and shrugged. “Partly. I think he’s overworking himself. He’s stressed lately—he works late into the night and wakes up early. He’s trying to do everything he needs for his own country, and juggling all the international meetings and policies, all while trying to woo his allies.”  
  
Matthew paused, and looked up at Francis, gauging his reaction.  
  
“Yes,” Francis agreed.  
  
Matthew looked down again, worrying his lower lip. Francis knew that, even if Matthew downplayed it, he worried and cared deeply for his brother. There were many times when Francis had seen Matthew give his brother an encouraging touch during meetings, and whenever Alfred was overly stressed out, or in some kind of crisis, Matthew spent many long nights at Alfred’s home, taking care of him. It was the kind of brotherly love that could make any heart ache, and Francis, at least, was glad that the two had one another to look out for each other.  
  
“I’m worried,” Matthew said. “He hasn’t worked this hard in a long time, and last time he practically collapsed from it all. You know how he can be.”  
  
“Yes,” Francis said again.  
  
Matthew nodded. “He just needs to slow down a little and relax. He doesn’t have to take everything all at once, especially since whenever he does this he tends to get sloppy and fool-hardy.”  
  
Francis stroked his beard, and nodded, letting out a small sigh. “Of course.”  
  
“It’ll pass, once these series of meetings are all over. Though winter’s coming… and you know how he gets in winter.”  
  
Francis nodded. Alfred’s distaste of winter was well known among his allies and trading partners. It was a rare day indeed when Alfred even emerged from his house during winter, and it was through planning that world meetings were never held in winter.  
  
The door to the conference room opened, and the Italian brothers walked in, speaking to each other in rapid Italian. They didn’t seem to notice Matthew and Francis in the corner, but it was just as well.  
  
“It assures me to know you’ll be spending time together,” Francis said, and squeezed Matthew’s arm affectionately. Matthew smiled up at him and nodded. Francis continued, “He’ll enjoy that.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks for worrying, too,” Matthew said. “You know how dense he can be, but I know he appreciates it when you and Arthur look out for him, too.”  
  
“And how could we not?” Francis agreed, and took a step towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sweet Mathieu, I must go find that foolish brother of yours. He and I have something we must discuss.”  
  
“Oh?” Matthew said.  
  
“Just a way to have the little rabbit relax,” Francis said with a small smile as he left the room, weaving his way between Ludwig and Vash and leaving in search of Alfred.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“ _Mon lapin,_ ” Francis purred in Alfred’s ear, pressing his body up against Alfred’s.  
  
Alfred jumped, twisting his head around and blinking owlishly at Francis. Then he gave him a wide smile. “Oh, hey, Francis.”  
  
“ _Bonjour, mon beau lapin,_ ” Francis greeted, quiet smile and all.  
  
Francis pulled away and settled beside Alfred. Alfred was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee, and by the smell of his breath, Francis could discern that it was not his first cup.  
  
“What’s up?” Alfred asked.  
  
“I am in need of your assistance,” Francis said.  
  
Alfred brightened up instantly, and Francis smiled. If there was one thing he knew about Alfred, it was that he loved to be needed, and any excuse to play hero was fine by him. He seemed to stand up a bit straighter.  
  
“Sure thing! What do you need?”  
  
“Well, you see,” Francis purred, “I admittedly know so very little of your charming city, and would like to know where the best restaurant to go is, that is not—” Francis added when he saw Alfred open his mouth, “—McDonalds, but actually a place I may sit and order my food and enjoy the atmosphere for a few hours.”  
  
“Huh,” Alfred said, and scratched at his cheek as he thought, his eyes up on the ceiling. He thought for some time, his brow furrowing in a rather endearing way, and then he began naming off some restaurants.  
  
“Ah,” Francis interrupted just as the boy was about to pick up speed in his listing, “I was hoping that perhaps you would accompany me to one of them?”  
  
Alfred blinked, then perked up. “Hey, good idea! My boss’ll be happy I’m spending time with you.”  
  
“And you yourself will not be pleased?” Francis asked with a dramatic sigh. “Alfred, _mon cher_ , you wound me so.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Alfred laughed, and he shrugged one shoulder.  
  
“Then it is settled,” Francis said, with a wide smile. “Shall we, once this meeting is over?”  
  
“Sure thing,” Alfred said, cheerfully, whipping out his smart phone and typing up a quick text message, undoubtedly to his boss to let him know the good news, and wandered away, completely forgetting about his cup of coffee.  
  
Francis watched his back, saw the familiar tension and insecurity that seemed to have worked themselves permanently into his muscles. Francis sighed. With Alfred, it was not one thing to walk up and offer one’s self, for it would completely fly over Alfred’s head. The trick was to get Alfred to admit that something was wrong, and then, logically, offer the solution.  
  
And Francis was hungry, as well, and hopefully Alfred’s restaurants (and Alfred himself) would live up to Francis’ superb and, admittedly, superior tastes.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“You do not properly enjoy things,” Francis said, watching as Alfred shoved scalloped potatoes into his mouth as if he were a starving man.  
  
“M’huh?” Alfred said, mouth full, blue eyes wide as he looked up at Francis.  
  
Francis patted his mouth delicately with his napkin, and set down his fork so he could steeple his fingertips as he leaned forward, observing Alfred.  
  
“You,” he said calmly, “do not properly enjoy things. You rush through it as if it will disappear, and then you’re left even hungrier than before.”  
  
Alfred’s brows furrowed. “It’s just potatoes, Francis.”  
  
“This time, perhaps,” Francis said with a nod.  
  
Alfred stared at him, chewing his food, and a bit of potato at the corner of his mouth. Francis offered him a low smile and Alfred blinked a few times, as if trying to decode something and ultimately giving up.  
  
“Savor it,” Francis advised. “Take a step back, take things slowly. Relax, and it’ll be much easier for you.”  
  
Alfred’s brow furrowed further. They looked at one another for a long moment, before Alfred slanted his eyes away, stabbing his fork into his food.  
  
“Man, I forgot how uptight you Europeans can be about food,” Alfred said to his plate.  
  
Francis’ smile twitched just slightly before curving into something a little warmer.  
  
“Yes, of course. I am speaking of food,” Francis said, absently. He picked up his fork again.  
  
“Anyway, it’s not that big of a deal. I dunno how your people can get away with having such long lunch breaks or whatever,” Alfred said around another mouthful of food, though Francis noted that he was eating a bit slower. “I have so much work in a day that I’m lucky if I even get a fifteen minute break to eat a sandwich.”  
  
“ _Oh mon Dieu,_ ” Francis sighed. “ _Mon lapin_ , you torture me with your fast-pace lifestyle. You pain me.”  
  
Alfred gave him a blank expression, and shoveled more food into his mouth, chewing loudly.  
  
Francis sighed. Guiding the boy had always been more of Arthur’s approach, and he could understand at times why Arthur flipped tables over Alfred’s dense approach to things. But he was resolved to help the boy in the best way possible. The only thing that mattered was getting Alfred to open up, so to speak.  
  
“You have food on the corner of your mouth, _mon cher,_ ” Francis said, pleasantly.  
  
Alfred wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then licked his lips. “Thanks.”  
  
Francis just smiled. Despite Alfred’s many faults, Francis thought, he really was a very attractive boy. He watched Alfred lick his lips a few times, and let out a soft sigh. Yes, very attractive.  
  
They ate in silence, and it was with a bit of satisfaction that Francis noticed Alfred trying to eat a bit slower. Still almost insultingly fast, but not as fast as before. Francis took his time in eating his meal, and reveled in the way that Alfred shifted a little uneasy when he finished first, and was forced to watch Francis eat his food and drink his wine. Once he, too, had finished, Francis footed the bill, tutting when Alfred made a grab for it and telling him that it was his pleasure to stimulate Alfred’ s economy.  
  
If Alfred noticed anything lewd in that phrase, he didn’t let on. Which meant he hadn’t noticed anything, to Francis’ disappointment. Alfred being so willfully oblivious meant that when he actually got something, the result was always very lovely—Alfred’s blushing face was by far one of the sweetest blushing faces he’d ever seen.  
  
As they walked outside, and Alfred went to work of hailing a cab, Francis stood beside him. “I would very much like for you to come back to my room with me. So that we may ‘catch up’, of course.”  
  
Alfred blinked at him, and then grinned. “Cool, okay.”  
  
It must have been a long time since Alfred had spent time with anyone other than Matthew, and perhaps Kiku. Having a house visitor must have been very nice for Alfred to hear. And Francis so hoped it would be a successful visit. His caring for the boy aside, it had been far too long since Francis had slept with anyone.  
  
The cab ride, too, was spent in relative silence. Alfred seemed exhausted, despite the early time of the evening, and Francis decided that Matthew had not been exaggerating when explaining his brother’s work ethic. As carefree as the boy could present, as silly he could be at meetings, at the end of the day, he did take his work seriously. And the tension in the slope of his neck was testament to those long hours of work.  
  
They walked together through Francis’ hotel lobby, waited for the elevator. Alfred whistled absently to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, in an attempt to keep himself peppy. Francis gave him a small smile, which Alfred cheerfully returned. But Francis could see the faults and fault lines in that smile, see the way that Alfred was trying to _show_ Francis just how fine he was. He obviously had not forgotten their conversation earlier in the day. Francis, as always, remained unconvinced. But it seemed that that was also something that escaped Alfred’s notice.  
  
Francis pulled his cardkey from his pocket once they reached Francis’ hotel room, and slipped it into the lock, waiting for the tell-tale buzz of the lock coming undone. He opened the door, and it swept inward, revealing the orderly hotel room within. The room service had come through while he’d been away at the world meetings, and the room was made-up and appeared completely unlived in. Francis’ bags were tucked away into the closet, and there was a mint on the pillow.  
  
The mint was obviously the first thing Alfred spotted, and he bounded across the hotel room and hopped onto the bed, scooping the mint up and unwrapping it. He grinned at Francis as he popped the mint into his mouth.  
  
Francis closed the door behind him and loosened his tie.  
  
“Now,” Francis said, calmly, removing his jacket and hanging it up in the closet, his back to Alfred. When he turned around again, Alfred had his full attention on Francis. “Now,” Francis repeated, as he, too, sat down on the bed, holding Alfred’s gaze calmly, “we are completely alone, _mon cher_ , and you do not have to put on such a strong front.”  
  
“Huh?” Alfred asked, feigning confusion.  
  
Francis, however, was completely patient. He was used to waiting around for people to realize what they wanted, and Alfred was no different. Alfred was not nearly as bad as he was as a child. As a child, Alfred would be tight-lipped, refusing to speak unless it was to Arthur, and very rarely would divulge any hidden secret to Francis. It was not until Alfred’s revolution that the boy opened up to Francis more, and their relations with one another had remained around the same, with minute changes, as well as the inevitable change of modernity, throughout the years.  
  
“ _Mon cher,_ ” Francis said again, “Surely you do not think me so oblivious as to think you have recovered since this morning. You, as I may recall, were slumped rather somberly against the wall earlier today.”  
  
He leaned forward, and placed his hand on Alfred’s knee. Alfred, as always, did not seem to notice the intimacy of such a gesture, because he was doing his best to give Francis a blank expression as he processed his words.  
  
“I know that it must be beyond simply working hard—yes, Mathieu told me of your hard work, lately,” Francis said, before Alfred could protest. “You are not overflowing with such sunny _humour_ as you normally are. Your brother has noticed, Arthur has undoubtedly noticed, and I, as well, have noticed.”  
  
Alfred blinked at him, and seemed to retreat, as was often his approach when he felt cornered. “I’m not—”  
  
“I do not ask out of any reason to make light of your achievements, Alfred,” Francis said, quite seriously, “Nor to pity you, nor to laugh at your expense. I… we are concerned for you.”  
  
Alfred blinked some more, and then turned his face away, his cheeks turning pink. It was a bit like how Arthur reacted, sometimes, and truly Alfred came by his personality honestly. Francis often lamented the adverse effects Arthur’s upbringing had on such a beautiful boy as Alfred, though he said this mostly in jest (and because there was nothing that got Arthur riled up more than eluding to British America).  
  
“You got no reason to be,” Alfred muttered, cheeks pink.  
  
Francis smiled. “And why not, _mon cher?_ It is natural to worry over someone for whom you share affection, _n’est pas_?”  
  
Alfred scrunched his face up, lips pursed like a fish’s. His face seemed to grow steadily redder. Underneath it all, Alfred did not seem to do well with affection. Attention, he could handle. Praise, too. But affection, legitimate concern, was something the boy was not used to. For a moment, Francis’ heart ached.  
  
He reached out his hand, and cupped Alfred’s cheek, turning his face back towards Francis’. “Alfred,” he said, calmly, offering him what he believed to be a comforting smile, “You may tell me whatever you wish, and I will merely listen. I will not hold anything you say against you, nor belittle you for anything you want to, how is it you say it—get something off your chest.”  
  
Alfred opened his mouth, and then closed it. He lowered his eyes, tilted his face in a way that the light reflected up onto his glasses, hiding his eyes completely. Francis knew to be patient, though, and even stroked his thumb along Alfred’s cheekbone. It was very slight, but he saw the way Alfred shivered at the touch—poor, beautiful boy, so lovely, and so unused to being touched.  
  
“It’s stupid,” Alfred finally said.  
  
Francis’ eyes twinkled. Ah, progress.  
  
“I will be the judge of that,” Francis reminded.  
  
Alfred nodded, and Francis pulled his hand away from Alfred’s face, pulling himself closer to Alfred and letting his hand rest on Alfred’s hip. Alfred, shifted, tugged at the shoelaces of his dress shoes, as if he wanted to pull them off but also not quite taking that step.  
  
“I just… I always work really hard and it never feels like I do anything. Shit just gets worse. I make leeway in one thing, then I gotta focus on other stuff. No matter what I do, I feel like I’m in a hole and I can’t get out,” Alfred said, suddenly, and seemed rather taken aback when the words tumbled from his mouth—and how easily they tumbled.  
  
“Go on,” Francis urged.  
  
“I work and I work and I don’t get any thanks from the people I work with and for, and I don’t get any thanks from other nations and I… I dunno. I shouldn’t complain cause I’m a hero and heroes don’t complain and I take this stuff on for myself because that’s what heroes do, but… you know. I’m just working myself to the point where I can’t even do anything fun anymore.”  
  
“You are stressed, it’s true,” Francis agreed, the hand on Alfred’s hip sliding to his back, and up, feeling the tension in the smooth arch of Alfred’s back. “You are tense. You have not relaxed in a very long time, _mon cher._ ”  
  
Alfred nodded, absently. Francis kneaded at Alfred’s back, and watched the boy slump, relaxing against his touch. He glanced up at Francis, and the older nation offered the young boy a smile, pressing his fingers into the flesh of Alfred’s back, through his bomber jacket, his suit jacket, his dress shirt, his undershirt… so many layers. Francis just wanted to peel them all way right that moment, but Alfred was delicate. He needed to approach him calmly, and then they could both get to something they would enjoy.  
  
“And it’s hard to just keep being cheerful,” Alfred continued. “I mean. It’s not that I’m unhappy… I’m just tired. It takes energy. And no matter what I do, I get criticized.”  
  
“You,” Francis said again, “need to relax.”  
  
He placed a second hand on Alfred’s back, shifted so that he was behind him, kneading at his back, massaging weak muscles.  
  
Alfred’s head sank forward, exposing the curve of his neck. Such delicate skin and bones. Francis wanted to lean forward and kiss at the skin. But, patience. Patience was key.  
  
Francis’ hands snuck around Alfred’s front, pulling his jacket from his body. Alfred let him, and Francis adjusted Alfred’s lapels once he’d tossed the old bomber jacket aside. His hands settled back down onto Alfred’s shoulders, fingers brushing along Alfred’s neck.  
  
“Anything else, Alfred?” Francis asked, purred into his ear.  
  
Alfred stared at the wall opposite him, his face pink. “Um,” he said. He shifted. “Not really. I said it was dumb.”  
  
“It is not,” Francis defended. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders. “There is no shame in wanting acknowledgment. Even if I will not pretend you are unworthy of criticism, _mon cher_ , you have done good things. You have done many things, and every nation knows the feeling of working so hard and feeling nothing come of it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfred agreed, softly, slumping further.  
  
“You are having a tough time,” Francis agreed, and leaned forward, so that his body pressed up against Alfred. “And for that, you do have my sympathy.”  
  
“Thanks,” Alfred said quietly.  
  
“And,” Francis continued. “I have a suggestion, for how to… relax. You are so tense, _mon lapin._ ”  
  
“What is it?” Alfred asked, twisting around to look at Francis.  
  
“Let us sleep together,” Francis said primly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis solves the problem of getting Alfred to relax, in the very best way he knows how.

Alfred sputtered, his face igniting in color. It was very reminiscent of Arthur, really, and it made Francis wonder just which traits Alfred had inherited from himself in addition to Arthur. They had raised the brothers together, really, even if Arthur had ultimately become the lasting influence. Francis merely smiled as the boy continued to sputter for half a moment, blinking in rapid fire but not quite jerking away from Francis.  
  
“I—uh. What?”   
  
“It is a proven form of relaxation,” Francis said, “and,” he added, letting his eyes fall down Alfred’s body, “a good form of exercise. I know how much you like easy forms of exercise.”  
  
“… I guess,” Alfred said, blinking. “I’ve heard people say that before, but…”  
  
“And,” Francis continued, as if Alfred had not spoken, “sex is a wonderful stress relief. You will feel good as new in no time, and during very troubling or upsetting times, there is nothing better than a—” here he cleared his throat, and let his eyebrows rise up to his hairline, “—pick me up, as you would so coyly call it.”   
  
Alfred’s face, if possible, blushed brighter. But, still, he was not backing away from Francis. Francis took this as a good sign and offered his most charming smile.   
  
“I’ve heard that, too,” Alfred agreed. “But, I’m—”  
  
“Now, now,” Francis interrupted, sliding up closer to Alfred, as Alfred’s actions could in no way be construed as rejection, just hesitation. “I suppose you are one of those nations who are, I suppose, _ambivalent_ towards casual sex, but rest assured sweet Alfred, I am a superb lover.”   
  
“That isn’t what—” Alfred began.  
  
Francis stroked his knuckles along Alfred’s cheek, tenderly. “There is no shame, in finding appreciation in another’s body, Alfred. I guarantee I will help lift your spirits.”   
  
Alfred blinked a few times, blushing again and trying to find proper words. He bit his lip, his hair falling in his eyes as he ducked his head for a moment. He fiddled with the buttons of his suit jacket—a very good sign, Francis thought—and muttered out a few unintelligible words.   
  
“ _Mon lapin,_ ” Francis said, soothingly, taking Alfred’s hands in his own. He waited until the younger nation looked up at him, and he smiled. “Let me do this for you. I promise you will enjoy it.”   
  
Alfred bit his lip again, and then offered him that endearingly awkward smile of his, the kind when he’s forgotten, for just a moment, to be a proud, arrogant boy filled with bravado and optimism. Francis saw only a quiet sincerity now, and he returned the smile warmly, especially when Alfred nodded his head.  
  
“… Okay,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “Yeah, okay.”   
  
“Excellent,” Francis murmured, his thumbs swiping across Alfred’s squared knuckles. “I knew you would see reason.”   
  
And as Francis leaned in to capture Alfred’s mouth, the boy whispered, “Thanks, Francis.”  
  
“ _Bien sûr_ ,” Francis murmured, leaning in fully and pressing his mouth to Alfred’s, lifting his hand to cup the boy’s face and kiss him deeply, wasting no time to lay claim to Alfred’s mouth, who opened up willingly to him.   
  
Oh yes, Francis would enjoy this. And it would do Alfred good to have some stress relief. The tension in his shoulders left Francis assuming it’d been far too long since the boy had taken to bed with another—Francis shivered to think: what if it’d been more than a month since his last sexual encounter? Ungodly!   
  
Alfred’s movements were jerky, clumsy, as he lifted his hands and cupped Francis’ face in return, returning his kiss with a quiet murmur against his mouth, following Francis when Francis leaned back against the headboard, dragging Alfred with him. His kiss was sloppy, and he mostly just followed Francis’ lead, and his hands gripped his face a little too tightly. More like two months, Francis amended in his head.   
  
Alfred’s kisses were slow and heavy, but Francis was all too happy to receive them, stroking his fingers through Alfred’s hair. He moved, pushed, and pressed Alfred onto his back, tugging at the knot at his throat. He loosened Alfred’s tie and pulled it back, his eyes hooded. Alfred’s breath seemed to be caught, and he wasn’t moving too much, eyes kind of wide as he stared up at Francis. Francis decided it must be stage fright—the poor boy was so pure, and must not have had someone as wonderful with _l’amour_ as Francis—and continued his work, his nimble fingers sliding Alfred’s suit jacket off, plucking the buttons open one at a time to his dress shirt, the collar popping up as he tugged the tie away.   
  
“Mmmm, _mon lapin,_ ” Francis cooed as he tugged the clothes from Alfred’s chest. Alfred colored a little, but offered him a lopsided grin. Alfred propped himself up on his elbows, observing the way Francis ran his hand down Alfred’s chest, settling on the swell of his stomach, the other hand on his hip, thumbing along the thick leather of his belt.   
  
“Do you have, uh…” he trailed off purposefully.   
  
“So eager,” Francis said with a small laugh. “I should have known.”  
  
Francis sat back, tugging off his own tie and letting it fall to the ground, silk slipping through his fingers. He was never one to enjoy ties—he much preferred the freedom of open shirts. But that was not important, not when actually being shirtless was a much more favorable choice over thinking about it.   
  
“I’m just making sure,” Alfred protested.  
  
Francis laughed, teasing, but not cruelly, and the way Alfred’s ears turned pink was incredibly endearing. Everything about the boy, really, was endearing. Francis had known that over the hundreds of years he’d know him.   
  
“ _Oui_ ,” Francis murmured, “I will take care of it.”   
  
And without taking his eyes off Alfred, he reached over, popped open the drawer on the bedside table, and pulled out the bottle of lubricant he kept there (and he could only imagine the look on the housecleaner’s face should she have opened the drawer earlier today).   
  
“ _Voila_ ,” Francis announced.  
  
Alfred wrinkled his nose. “You just keep it there all the time?”   
  
Francis, with a sultry smile, placed it in Alfred’s hand. “Hold that for me,” Francis murmured against his mouth as he leaned down and kissed him again, breathing in the taste of hotel mint on Alfred’s breath. “It is better to warm it up, _n’est pas?_ ”   
  
“I guess,” Alfred hesitantly agreed, looking unsure as he stared at the lube. Then he muttered, “Did you plan this?”  
  
“Not until the meeting,” Francis said with a sniff. “But your big brother likes to be prepared.”  
  
Alfred’s face colored. “Don’t call yourself that when we’re in bed, geez.”   
  
Francis laughed again, still not cruelly, only teasing. Alfred always chose the strangest times to be flustered and shy, and it was usually only in rare moments. Francis enjoyed seeing Alfred’s flustered nature. It was a treat.   
  
Truthfully, he’d been planning on perhaps convincing another nation to his bed—he always had such high hopes, and it was always very discouraging when nations, with so many borders and alliances, had to be so faithful to one another. Francis was a man of charms, of love and passion, he should be able to bed whomever he pleased without anyone working up a fuss. Sex was sex, after all, he thought. But, as it was, his neighbors also usually happened to be oblivious or hard-to-get. After hundreds of years, Francis should be used to it.   
  
But, of course, it was rude to think of others when he had such a willing partner sprawled out beneath him. Francis smiled and removed Alfred’s shoes for him, and socks, and then making quick work of his belt.   
  
He peppered kisses along the available skin, letting his lips linger and pillow over Alfred’s swelling chest, rising and falling with shortened breath. Such an eager, responsive boy he was. Francis smiled against the golden skin as he followed the lines of his body and muscles.   
  
His hands slid over Alfred’s thighs, tugging at his boxers, before one hand shifted and pressed against the growing bulge of Alfred’s front.   
  
“Aaah,” Francis breathed, as he kissed at Alfred’s collarbone. “Well, well, well.”  
  
“W-what?” Alfred asked, and then cleared his throat, obviously flustered by the stutter. “What? What is it?”  
  
Francis could detect the note of insecurity in his voice, and Francis silently damned all of Alfred’s past lovers—to not shower such a beautiful creature with the proper affection and compliments! If only Francis could teach all the nations of the world how to properly love one another.   
  
“It is simply that you are such a big boy,” Francis purred, chuckling. He squeezed, feeling the hardening flesh of Alfred’s cock with a low smile. “I will enjoy this.”   
  
Alfred sputtered, and Francis smiled as he sucked on the skin across the jut of Alfred’s collarbone. Such a reaction.   
  
It seemed Alfred still did not know what to do with his hands, because he simply tangled his fingers into Francis’ long hair. Francis did not mind, in fact, the touch was quite welcome and quite gentle. He continued to kiss at Alfred’s golden skin, one hand kneading and squeezing at Alfred’s cock while the other stroked the corded arches of Alfred’s thighs.   
  
Alfred’s breath came out in short little flurries, and he bit his lip, sucking it between his teeth. Francis smiled up at him, slow and meaningful, as he pulled his hand away from Alfred’s crotch (delighting in the small, barely suppressed disappointed noise from Alfred), gripped his boxers, and tugged them down his body. Fully naked now, Alfred seemed to shrink, just slightly. Francis knew the boy was shy, deep down, and it was no surprise that something like this would make him feel uneasy. His hands remained in Francis’ hair, but they did tighten, as if he was torn between keeping them there, or grabbing for a pillow to cover himself.   
  
Francis did not give him the choice, his hand returning to where it’d been before, long, nimble fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking its underside, from root to tip. Alfred made a choking little gasp and it was so satisfying to hear. Alfred jerked his hips up, letting his mouth fall open.   
  
Pleased with such a reaction, Francis crawled up Alfred’s body, sliding his lips over his skin until he reached his mouth, his hand nudged between them and stroking Alfred carefully as his lips captured the jut of Alfred’s bottom lip, kiss-swollen. He kissed him slowly, almost cheerfully, if a kiss could be explained in such a way. His thumb flicked Alfred’s cockhead, then pressed and swirled around it, and as Alfred gasped out quiet moans, Francis swallowed them all, his tongue stroking at the curve of Alfred’s lips, the lines of his teeth, and diving deeper to explore his open, willing mouth.   
  
His hand picked up pace, pumping Alfred quickly, letting the man drown in the friction and the warmth. Alfred jerked up clumsily into his hand, biting back a moan that Francis could feel reverberate down his body. His free hand stroked at Alfred’s sides, felt the fluttering movement of his heart and the alternating deep and shallow intakes of breath. When his hand brushed over Alfred’s thigh, he could feel the muscles shaking. Poor boy, Francis shuddered to think that it’d been even more than _two months_ since Alfred had had someone in his bed.   
  
It was such a shame, too, because he was such a beautiful boy. Francis pulled away from Alfred’s mouth, kissing along the line of his jaw, glancing up at Alfred’s face, watching the way pieces of Francis’ hair weaved their way into pieces of Alfred’s. Alfred’s eyes were clenched shut, his mouth open in silent moans of pleasure. Francis lowered his eyes, kissing at the boy’s earlobe, tugging it with his teeth before drifting down over his neck, kissing and biting and licking at the lines of his neck. He tasted so delicious, and so eager. Alfred’s hands in his hair were shifting, falling to his back, nails too short and clipped to do any real damage, but scraping down his back all the same. There would be no lasting marks, though perhaps some red lines from irritated skin. Francis hummed his approval, sucking in a bit of skin into his mouth before placing open-mouthed kisses at Alfred’s throat, tasting his pulse and feeling the shout of his blood beneath the pillowing of his lips.   
  
The hand on Alfred’s cock continued to stroke, alternating between fast beats and gentle teasings, fingertips walking down the length of his cock, stroking the length and thickness, thumb pressing to the cockhead, a dusty color. Francis’ fingers and hand cupped and flicked at the cockhead, then slowly drifted downward, stroking down the length, petting at the wiry, light-colored hair—light, even down there!—and stroking at his balls, lavishing every inch of him with attention. And from the sounds Alfred was making, he was very much enjoying it. Though, Francis feared the boy’s stamina. Perhaps there could be a round two, if the boy could not outlast.   
  
Francis took his hand away quickly enough however. When he pulled away, Alfred was giving him a bewildered look. Francis just smiled, and held out his hand.   
  
“If you please,” he said.   
  
Alfred took a moment to realize what it was Francis wanted, and he groped around the bed until he pulled up the bottle of lube and deposited it in Francis’ hand.   
  
Normally, Francis was very keen on the foreplay, but his main course of action for the boy was the release of tension, the release of his seed. Teasing could indeed heighten the tension only to release more tension once that climax was reached, but Francis did not want the boy to come just from the touch of a hand alone—how anti-climatic, really, after the boy had spent so long without a partner! Three months!—but he rather wanted Alfred to come from the touch and feel of Francis around him and inside him. He would feel better, completely better, that way.   
  
Francis stripped off his clothing before pouring a liberal amount of lubricant into his cupped hand, rubbing his hands together to warm it. He smiled down at Alfred, who was panting and staring up at him, eyes wide, hands clumsily strewn on either side of him, unsure whether he should be touching Francis or himself or nothing at all. Such a wild-eyed, eager-to-please boy he was. Francis mourned Alfred’s work ethic—to think, all that time spent working when he could be relaxing and enjoying himself and others.   
  
Alfred’s body was beautiful to look at. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his chest was panting up and down for air. His cock was at full attention, and his blue eyes, darkened by lust, stared up at Francis hungrily. Oh yes, this had been the right decision.  
  
Francis curled himself up over Alfred, pressing their bodies together, so Francis could whisper in Alfred’s ear. “Turn over.”  
  
Alfred stared at him, then seemed to blush up to his roots. As Francis pulled back, Alfred followed him, propping himself up on his elbows, and then flipping over so that he was on his hands and knees. Alfred ducked his head, embarrassed—embarrassed, Francis knew, because he could see the way Alfred’s ears were still bright pink.   
  
Francis slid his way up to Alfred, nudged his legs further apart, and then slowly inserted one finger into him, curling his body over to lay haphazard kisses along Alfred’s spine. Alfred made a small whimpering noise that he covered quickly with a cough, turning his head to stare at Francis. He looked as if he was about to say something, ask something, but then he seemed to grow bashful and turned his face away completely, his hands reaching up to grasp at the headboard.   
  
The older nation did not press him for the words he’d about said, and instead focused on curling and hooking his finger inside Alfred, stretching and preparing him. He was so tight, Francis felt he would suffocate. He slowly pushed a second finger into Alfred, stretching and exploring, and Alfred let out another whimper, his back arching as he pressed his face down into a pillow to try to muffle the noises.   
  
“Relax,” Francis advised, using his free hand to stroke his knuckles up and down the bumps of Alfred’s spine. He pressed kisses to his shoulder blades and the back of his neck, pressing close so that his own cock pressed against Alfred’s backside. He did not enter yet, not yet. His fingers did the work, pumping and hooking inside him, searching for that spot that would make Alfred cry out, make him collapse a little and turn to jelly from pleasure.   
  
Alfred, for his part, tried to do as Francis advised, forcing himself to relax against Francis’ ministrations. Francis kissed the back of his neck again in support, a third finger slowly slipping into Alfred once he was stretched further. Alfred bucked his hips, sliding Francis’ hand further into Alfred’s body. Around the fabric of the pillow, Francis heard Alfred’s quiet moan.   
  
“Are you enjoying this, _mon lapin?_ ” Francis purred in Alfred’s ear.  
  
Alfred mewled, something almost akin to a cat, and nodded his head. He lifted his face, his lips parted, as he stared over his shoulder, up at Francis. His eyes were half-lidded, his face flushed. He nodded for a long moment, opening his mouth as if to speak, but finding no words could suffice. Francis smiled—pleased that he could have such an effect on the boy.   
  
“ _Bon,_ ” Francis murmured, placing an open-mouthed kiss against Alfred’s shoulder, his eyes never leaving Alfred’s.  
  
Alfred bit his lip and suddenly cried out, and Francis knew that he’d found Alfred’s prostate. He pushed in deeper, stroked and hooked his fingers, prodding that spot. Alfred collapsed slightly beneath him, his entire body quaking, not even attempting to suppress his moans and gasps anymore. Alfred mewled and whimpered, his body shuddering from the onslaught of pleasure, his quiet gasps and moans sounding suspiciously like Francis’ name, but it was impossible to know for sure. Alfred buried his face into the pillow, moaning loudly once there, his back arched and his legs quivering as they widened for Francis.   
  
Francis felt his own flood of pleasure from such a display—such an open, expressive partner young Alfred was!—and pushed up closer to Alfred’s shuddering body. His free hand stroked his cock, coating it with the remaining lube, before nudging the cock into the cleft of Alfred’s ass, pressing close. Alfred stilled, just slightly, but the way his body continued to writhe beneath him indicated no other hesitation. Francis removed his fingers, slowly, and pressed both his hands down on the mattress as he let his cockhead tease at Alfred’s opening, not pushing in and not pulling away, just playing and teasing and watching the boy’s reaction.  
  
Alfred whimpered out his name, and then lifted his head again, giving Francis a wild-eyed look, a pleading look. Francis let his eyebrows rise and fall once before he pushed, fluidly, into Alfred. He did not pause to have Alfred adjust, the boy seemed eager enough as it was, and it only took a moment before he was fully seated inside of Alfred. Alfred cried out, a small gurgle, and his face fell away.  
  
Francis smiled, slid his hands up Alfred’s sides, before one hand gripped his hip, and the other hand reached out around, wrapping long fingers around Alfred’s strained cock. He pumped his hand in time with the first sharp thrust inside of Alfred. Alfred cried out, and Francis thrived on such a sound. He kept his thrusts shallow, full and unrestrained. Alfred was a strong boy, and Francis saw him adapt to the pace quickly enough. Francis continued to fist the boy’s rigid cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts, growing harsher occasionally when he lost control just from the sounds Alfred was making.   
  
He was such a loud boy, even when he wasn’t speaking. He panted and moaned and gasped out quietly as Francis continued to shove in and out of him, the force of his thrusts rocking Alfred’s body. Alfred gripped the headboard tightly, moaning low in the back of his throat and thrusting his hips clumsily, trying to match Francis’ pace.   
  
But, the boy’s stamina left much to be discovered (four months, Francis thought with a horrible shiver), and quickly enough Francis felt the shift in Alfred’s body, heard the gurgling cry from the back of his throat. Francis continued to stroke him in time to his thrusts, milking him dry, feeling the ribbons of cum spilling out onto his fingertips and across the sheets below them. Francis licked his lips, and leaned forward, kissing at Alfred’s back as he continued to thrust harshly up into him, pounding into Alfred with such a frenzy, searching for his release. Alfred was bones and jelly beneath him, and Francis kept his hand wrapped around his waist, pressed now to his stomach instead of his softening cock, holding him up against him as he slammed himself into Alfred up to the hilt.   
  
Alfred was relaxed and open to him, beneath him, and Francis fully enjoyed taking the boy. Alfred sighed softly beneath him, his arms shaking slightly as he continued to hold himself up. But Francis could feel how relaxed the boy was, and continued to pound into him until finally he tensed up and felt himself spilling inside of Alfred, filling him. He stilled, his chest pressed to Alfred’s back, feeling the pulse and beat of Alfred’s heart matching Francis’ own pace.   
  
“Aaah,” Francis sighed, “ _mon lapin…_ ”   
  
Alfred didn’t respond, save for a quiet little moan. Francis shifted his hips, giving a few more shallow thrusts into Alfred’s willing body, until he had spilled all his seed into him and, softening, slowly pulled out of Alfred. He dragged a hand appreciatively down Alfred’s spine, and watched Alfred collapse onto his stomach, burying his blushing face into the pillow.   
  
Francis clucked his tongue, and continued to stroke his back. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, _mon bel homme._ ”  
  
“M’not embarrassed,” Alfred mumbled into the pillow, and then rolled over, and he did indeed seem quite shameless as he stayed on his back, completely naked, some spots of his own cum on his stomach. Francis wiped his hand over Alfred’s stomach for him, collecting the seed.   
  
Alfred sighed, happily, and seemed to sink into the mattress. He stared up at Francis with lidded eyes and a loopy smile on his face. Francis returned the smile.   
  
“That was… wow,” was all Alfred managed to say after a long pause.  
  
Francis chuckled, licking at his fingers absently and tasting Alfred. Delicious.   
  
“I aim to please,” Francis purred, and leaned in, kissing at the corner of Alfred’s mouth. “ _Oui,_ I can see that I pleased you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfred mumbled, embarrassment finally catching up to him and reddening his cheeks. “Y… yeah.”   
  
Francis gave himself a mental pat on the back as he said, “And already I can see my little rabbit is relaxing. Your mood has much improved.”  
  
“It’s… the endorphins or something,” Alfred said, closing his eyes. “I read about it once.”  
  
“ _Oui,_ ” Francis agreed, stroking Alfred’s side.   
  
But already Francis could see the improvement of Alfred’s mood. He seemed much happier. He was sated, leaning into the soft pillows and mattress of Francis’ hotel bed, his body strewn about and that same loopy smile on his face. He sighed, rather content, as Francis laid down beside him. Alfred turned his head, pressed his face into Francis’ shoulder, and Francis allowed that. Alfred had always been so affectionate.   
  
“And now it’ll be less stressful, for your work, _oui?_ ”   
  
“ _Oui,_ ” Alfred mumbled sleepily.   
  
“ _Très bien._ ”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Francis awoke the next morning with a wide yawn that nearly cracked his jaw. He lounged in his bed, letting himself sink appreciatively into the mattress, the blankets draped precariously over his body. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed the night before. He’d contented himself with watching Alfred emerge from the shower, the blush in his cheeks as he picked his clothes apart from Francis’ on the floor, slowly got dressed, and made to go back to his apartment. It’d only been until the moment when Alfred was about to turn, looked as if perhaps he wanted to say something, that Francis reached out his hand and grabbed the younger nation’s wrist.   
  
He’d tugged him close, and said, with his mouth softened in a smile, “Whenever you feel the urge to relax, you need only call.”   
  
Francis had slept peacefully that night. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but he felt relaxed when he awoke. The night and its activities had done him well, and he could only hope that Alfred was feeling just as relaxed, as he woke up this fine morning. Undoubtedly he would—Francis knew he was a superb lover, after all!—and it would do the boy’s nerves some good. And this way Matthew would stop worrying. Arthur, too, though the man would never admit to it. And Francis, as well, could rest easy knowing he had helped the boy relieve some tension.   
  
Stretching slowly in bed, Francis finally woke fully and prepared himself for the day. His shower was slow and languid, as were most of his movements. He went through his morning activity with gentle precision, enjoying every little moment, every little breath.   
  
And as he arrived at the world meeting, he sashayed his way into the room and towards Matthew, who stood near the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup and looking only slightly sleepy. He nodded at Francis when the older nation slid up to Matthew.   
  
Matthew mumbled a sleepy greeting around the lip of the drink.  
  
Francis draped his arm around Matthew’s shoulder, and returned the greeting.   
  
The other nations were filing into the room as Francis continued to give Matthew his undivided attention, but there was no sign of Alfred. It seemed he would appear late, again. He could already hear Arthur making muttering insults towards the missing country in question. But he was complaining to Antonio, and complaining to Antonio was like complaining to a brick wall, for all the support he’d give. When Arthur finished his long tirade, Antonio said something about how the weather was looking almost as pretty as Lovino (which earned a shout of annoyance from both Lovino and Arthur; Lovino because _“Why the fuck are you saying such stupid shit so early in the morning?”_ and Arthur because _“Were you even listening to me?_ )  
  
“Everyone seems lively,” Matthew said, rubbing at his eye and adjusting his glasses.   
  
Matthew looked so remarkably like Alfred sometimes. He seemed rather haggard himself. Francis would have to look into getting Matthew to relax, too, perhaps.   
  
Such train of thoughts, however, quickly came to a halt as Ludwig tried to call the nations into order. This, of course, was about as easy as herding cats (an analogy Herakles in particular often found worthy of a sleepy smile). Eventually, though, Ludwig managed to get most of the nations sitting and was in the process of reading the minutes from the last meeting (very easily interrupted by Feliciano’s enthusiastic “Oh! I remember that!”s when appropriate).   
  
Francis heard Matthew sigh, and glanced over to where the boy sat, beside him. Matthew’s chin was cushioned in his hand, looking at the empty seat—the seat Alfred should have been sitting in. Matthew was frowning, brows slanted deep in thought.   
  
“Worried for your brother?” Francis asked, with a smile, blocking out the sound of Ludwig and Feliciano’s misguided sense of adolescent flirting.   
  
Matthew blinked, taking his eyes off the empty chair and frowning at Francis. “You have to ask?”   
  
“Aaaaah,” Francis sighed, and patted Matthew on the shoulder. “Such a good brother. If only I had brothers as lovely as you, Mathieu.”   
  
Matthew rolled his eyes, but almost cracked a smile. “You know how it’s been. He always shows up late to meetings, but lately he’s just looked exhausted—as much as he’s tried to hide it.”  
  
Francis hummed the affirmative. He remembered. It was impossible not to notice, if whoever was looking knew what to look for. Bags under his eyes, just a moment of lethargy before he started shouting and demanding attention. It was usually subtle—something hard to associate with Alfred—but there was certainly a difference between Alfred’s natural cheerfulness and energy, and the forced cheerfulness and energy he’d been executing as of late.   
  
Francis wasn’t too worried, now, though. Alfred had seemed incredibly pleased the night before, and Francis could only hope that his powers of relaxation, as he so coyly called them, had worked the appropriate magic.   
  
Just as Francis was thinking this, of course, the door to the meeting room slammed open. Some of the nations jumped, but most were far too used to loud entrances. Sure enough, there was Alfred, strolling in and letting the door slam behind him. Francis noticed the change in Alfred almost (as did Matthew notice, Francis could note out of the corner of his eye). Instead of slumping into the room and forcing in the energy after a brief moment, Alfred was peppy, bright-eyed, and bounding towards his seat.  
  
“Hi!” he called out cheerfully and grinning at the people sitting near him. And then his eyes swept around the room and he crowed out a loud, “So what did I miss?”   
  
Ludwig looked as if he was a moment away from having a hernia.   
  
It seemed as if things would return to how they were meant to. Francis leaned back in his chair with a languid smile, and even returned Alfred’s wave with his own, when the boy’s eyes fell on Francis. He waved, overly enthusiastic, his eyes switching from Francis to Matthew and still waving, even as Ludwig attempted to continue onto the meeting and ignoring the continual interruption from the superpower.   
  
Francis clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and said, softly, to Matthew, “He really can be so childlike sometimes. Hard to imagine he can be serious, _oui?_ ”   
  
“When he wants to be,” Matthew reminded, in defense of his brother.   
  
Francis’ eyes twinkled. “ _Mais oui._ ”   
  
Francis saw Matthew relax into his own seat, a small smile on his face. “I wonder if he finished his work, then.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“He’s relaxed,” Matthew said, which was a strange thing to say since Alfred, for all intents and purposes, did seem wound-up and overly energetic and excited. For Alfred, though, that was normal—for Alfred, that was relaxation: being in an environment where he didn’t see the need to worry about public decorum.   
  
In fact, it seemed as if he was back to his usual self because he was already pouting and insulting Arthur, who was trying to lecture him on the importance of being punctual. Ludwig, who still stood at the podium with his typical look of long-suffering, tried to call the meeting to order. As usual, the chaos ensued until Arthur tried to choke Alfred and the surrounding nations struggled to get the two men to separate.   
  
Francis leaned back in his chair, still with a self-satisfied smile. He’d done well. Already he could tell that the young nation was feeling much better in general. There was nothing like having an eventful night to satisfy a few frayed nerves and smooth a few ruffled feathers.   
  
“He really should make a habit of it,” Francis said to himself, and ignored the curious look Matthew gave him.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Francis!” Alfred called to him after the meeting, trotting to catch up to Francis.  
  
Francis turned away from where he’d been walking with Antonio (while admiring that glorious backside of his) and one of Ivan’s sisters (whom he never tried to pursue, despite _large_ interests to do so, simply because he did not want Ivan to come after him in the dead of night). He smiled at Alfred as the nation wove his way between retreating nations, trying to catch up to Francis.   
  
“Hello, _mon lapin,_ ” Francis greeted, smiling a rather charming smile, if he did say so himself, that Alfred either didn’t notice or was choosing to ignore.  
  
Alfred was all grins and blushing cheeks—such a sweet blush, Francis could not help but think; truly, the boy was far too innocent and shy at the most unlikely of times. He stopped in front of Francis, and after a pause, scratched at the back of his head with that lopsided grin of his. Francis continued to smile with him, and resumed walking. Alfred fell into step with him.   
  
“So,” Alfred began after a pause, as they stopped to wait for the elevator. “I, uh, don’t really say this a lot, so don’t make me repeat it, but: thanks again. I really owe you one.”  
  
“I see you are feeling much better,” Francis said, chipper, letting his thumb trace the circle of the down button for the elevator, putting as much sensuality into the simple touch as he could… and knowing that it would completely fly over Alfred’s head.  
  
It did. Alfred was laughing, a wide smile and pink cheeks. “Yeah, I guess what you said was right. About relieving tension and stuff like that… and stuff. Yeah. Stress relief! And, uh, exercise. Or whatever it was you said. Yeah.”   
  
“I see it has helped with your verbal expression,” Francis said with a small laugh. The elevator arrived and the ride down to the ground level began.   
  
Alfred sputtered, face red, and he looked away—so coy!—and cleared his throat. “Anyway. Yeah. I feel better. Thought you’d want to know.”  
  
“I am very relieved to hear it,” Francis said, and meant it. Seeing Alfred so downtrodden was incredibly unnerving at times. And leave it to Alfred to focus on the ‘reasons’ for the encounter, instead of the feelings the boy undoubtedly felt the night before when Francis—how did the English-speakers say it—‘rocked Alfred’s world.’ The boy was so modest.   
  
“Yeah,” Alfred said again, and shifted just a little awkwardly. “It really helped, and… yeah.”  
  
“I, too, enjoyed myself,” Francis said with an enigmatic smile.   
  
Alfred’s blush increased in vibrancy and he slanted his eyes away, but not without the smile falling from his face. “Oh? Uh. That’s good. Cause even though I…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Well, anyway… I am pretty great!”   
  
“ _Mais bien sûr,_ ” Francis agreed.   
  
Alfred obviously hadn’t expected the blatant agreement, and if possible his grin increased in size. It looked about ready to split off his face.   
  
“Anyway,” Alfred said, as the door to the elevator opened to the ground floor. “Yeah. You were right—and I don’t usually say that either.”  
  
“I know,” Francis said, following Alfred out towards the street. “Should the need for stress relief ever arrive again, _mon lapin_ , I trust you will think fondly of me and call me again.”  
  
“Ha ha, sure,” Alfred said with a laugh, and hailed a cab for Francis. As Alfred dropped his hand down, Francis seized it and pressed a goodbye kiss to the knuckles there.  
  
“ _Mon lapin,_ ” Francis purred, opening the door to the cab with his other hand. “I look forward to seeing you at the next world meeting.”   
  
“Yeah,” Alfred said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and grinning, his face bright red. “You too, Francis.”   
  
And as Francis drove away, he once again silently congratulated himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis realizes the mistake and creates another solution (or, the same solution revisited).

Francis’ time back in his country was about as exciting as was to be expected. He had his own internal issues to work through, some EU meetings and official business, and there was always the occasional unexpected meetings he absolutely needed to have with Arthur or with Antonio. The meetings with Arthur usually meant Francis crashing into Arthur’s house just to hear the self-satisfied squawk of outrage from the Englishman. And meetings with Antonio were not as fun as they _should_ be because Antonio absolutely refused to get the hint, even when Francis was already on direct course of removing his shirt.   
  
His neighbors were ridiculous, but Francis was used to this.   
  
And it was after a few boring months in this norm that Francis arrived again to Toronto, where the world meetings would be held that season. Last time, it’d been in New York City, the time before that was in Budapest, and so on. It was Matthew’s turn, and Francis was always happy to visit Matthew’s country, even if the French there often made him want to bleed from his ears.  
  
Francis had arrived early, and it was with a cheerful whistle that he entered the meeting room, making a beeline for his seat. There were a few smattering of nations already there, Matthew included. Francis smiled in greeting, but Matthew did not smile. In fact, he frowned. And the frown was just getting deeper the closer Francis came towards the other nation.  
  
“Mathieu?” Francis asked, blinking in surprise.  
  
Matthew slammed his papers down with so much force that it was remarkable that no other nation looked up as Matthew let out a long exhale through his nose, nostrils flared.  
  
“… Good morning, Francis,” Matthew said, slowly, his English gritty and terse, as if he was trying to speak through a clenched jaw. Matthew straightened, presently, and adjusted his tie, his face turned away slightly as he said, words still tight, “How are you?”  
  
Francis, mystified by such a strange reaction, just stared at Matthew for a long moment. “ _Alors…_ It was a very cold winter, but—”   
  
“I’m sure,” Matthew interrupted—Matthew _so rarely_ interrupted. Francis, still mystified and growing ever more confused, just watched Matthew as the boy fidgeted, patting down his hair, adjusting his tie—all the while scowling in a way that rivaled Arthur in his most petulant of moods.  
  
“… Mathieu…” Francis began, cautious.  
  
“I need coffee,” Matthew said abruptly, and stalked away, and as soon as he was away from earshot of Francis, Francis felt himself sigh and relax. What a suffocating atmosphere!   
  
Matthew didn’t appear again until the meeting was about to start, and the rest of the nations had found their seats. Francis was so puzzled by Matthew’s odd reaction that he didn’t pay any mind to even his usual frequenters to harass—namely, Antonio and Arthur. Ludwig started the meeting, reading the minutes from the last meeting, but Francis wasn’t listening (not that he ever truly listened, to be quite frank). Sitting beside him, Matthew didn’t even give Francis a second glance; he just kept his eyes on Ludwig. And occasionally, Francis could tell from the curve of Matthew’s neck as he shifted, looking over at his brother.  
  
Francis frowned, and found it hard to concentrate on the meeting.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Arthur was glaring at him.   
  
This in and of itself was not something odd or new, really. In fact, it would have been downright disturbing for Francis if there was ever a time when Arthur was _not_ glaring at him in some way. But this time, the glaring seemed even more intense than it probably should have been—and Francis was not even sure what he’d done to warrant such a hefty glare.   
  
“ _Oui?_ ” Francis asked, turning his full attention to Arthur, as Arthur glared at him over the rim of his teacup.   
  
It was the second day of meetings, and quickly after Matthew’s silent treatment yesterday, Francis had been more than pleased to return to his hotel room in peace. The second day, really, hadn’t been much better. Matthew spent most of his time with Alfred, and Alfred seemed either too busy with Matthew to come say hello, or he was once again being completely oblivious to others around him. This left Francis still rather mystified by Matthew’s odd reactions—perhaps he had a different way of expressing his own stress! Perhaps Francis would have to look into this further—and when mystified, this meant Francis had a harder time concentrating, as well. And as cute as Arthur could be when angry, he was not entirely sure of his ability to decipher Arthur’s expansive secret codes in his actions and words.   
  
“You,” Arthur said, pausing dramatically, scowling darkly, “are a bastard.”   
  
“Oh, my,” Francis sighed, and picked at the generic pastry on the plate next to the coffee pots. Such a sad pastry, really. Matthew really should have the caterer for these meetings shot. “Arthur, the way you were carrying on so silently, I felt you had finally thought of a new insult for me.”   
  
“A complete bastard,” Arthur repeated, and slammed his empty teacup down.   
  
Why were so many people slamming things in Francis’ presence? And, really, why were they even angry? Francis was well aware that he could often ruffle Arthur’s feathers, and they had seen each other recently for the EU, so his anger was probably just leftover from before. But Matthew—he had not seen Matthew since the world meeting last year. Francis hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d done wrong.  
  
“Perhaps I should have wished him a happy Christmas,” Francis mused to himself.  
  
“Are you even _listening to me?_ ” Arthur shouted, obviously flustered over being interrupted by whatever tirade Francis had blocked out.  
  
“ _Non_ ,” Francis said pleasantly.   
  
Instead of shouting and carrying on as he usually did, Arthur instead stepped forward and curled his fist into the front of Francis’ shirt.   
  
Francis frowned. “That is silk, _mon ami._ ”   
  
“Fuck you,” Arthur said, and his hold on Francis’ shirt tightened.  
  
Francis sighed. “If you insist—”  
  
“Damn it, Frog!” Arthur snapped, and even shook Francis slightly. Arthur raised his other fist, and Francis prepared to deflect any punch thrown at his face and kick Arthur in the gut to get him away. But Arthur made no move to actually hit Francis, which was odd. Arthur was definitely glaring enough to want to punch Francis, and yet he did not. “Do you have any idea what you did?”   
  
“None whatsoever,” Francis said, and pried Arthur’s hand from his shirt and dusting himself off. “And I take pride in knowing what flusters you so, _mon petit chou._ ”   
  
Arthur sputtered, looked as if he was about to shout something, but then he was quickly interrupted by—  
  
“Hey, old guys, the meeting’s starting again soon! What are you doing all the way over here still?”   
  
—Alfred was walking towards them, dragging Matthew behind him. Matthew and Arthur exchanged looks—ah, a conspiracy, Francis decided—but Alfred didn’t notice because he was too busy grinning between Arthur and Francis to take notice of much of anything.   
  
“I’m presenting today, so you better all pay attention!” Alfred said with a wide grin.  
  
“Like you pay attention to anyone else,” Arthur scoffed. And though he looked like he was about ready to murder Francis again, his expression smoothed out as soon as Alfred got close. His brow furrowed substantially, however, when Alfred laughed and punched him in the arm, supposedly in some kind of friendly manner (but Francis did not miss the way Arthur rubbed at his arm when Alfred’s attention was elsewhere).   
  
“I will listen to you with rapt attention, _mon lapin,_ ” Francis said pleasantly, and Alfred beamed. Behind him, Francis noted the way both Arthur and Matthew scowled.   
  
He really was missing something.   
  
“Great!” Alfred said, and laughed loudly. “It’s gonna be great! There’s lots of great plans—robots, hot air balloons, a giant moon shield and—”  
  
“Don’t give away the best parts before I can hear them, _mon cher._ Otherwise, why should I listen if not to have these amazing ideas revealed to me bit by bit?”   
  
Alfred laughed. And it was in that laugh that Francis noticed it. A tightness. He hadn’t been close enough to Alfred today or yesterday to notice the way his smile stretched just a little too thin. The boy had been working too hard again, it would appear. Or the winter had been long and hard for Alfred. He usually spent most winters locked away in his house, interacting with no one. He must be starved for attention, or starved to do something other than work. It seemed as if Francis might have to search for another opportunity to make the boy relax—a responsibility Francis would happily take upon himself, of course.   
  
“Ludwig will be waiting,” Matthew said suddenly, grasped Alfred’s shoulders, and spun him around. “We should sit down, Al.”   
  
“Right, right,” Alfred said with a laugh and allowed Matthew to push him away.   
  
Francis watched the two retreat, and presently realized that Arthur had not moved. His arms were folded over his chest, and he was still glaring at Francis.  
  
“Arthur?” Francis asked, with a wide smile.   
  
“Do you know what he was founded by?” Arthur asked suddenly.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Alfred, you dumb fuck!”   
  
“He was founded on _l'égalité et la liberté, n’est pas_?” Francis said pleasantly.  
  
“BY, not ON, you—!” Arthur shouted, then cut himself off from thinking of a proper insult. Francis did not mind the absence of one, necessarily. “Who was he founded by!”   
  
Francis shrugged one shoulder. “I did not realize I would be quizzed today.”  
  
Arthur clenched his jaw. “ _Puritans._ ”   
  
Francis continued to give him a blank expression, and then laughed. “Oh, yes. They were yours once, _oui?_ I remember when you lost them, you were suddenly so much more—”  
  
“This,” Arthur growled out, face clenched tight in frustration, “is not about me.”   
  
“I admit your reasons for bringing this up are beyond me, _mon cher._ ”   
  
“Think about it, you stupid, bearded frog.”   
  
“I am, and I must admit that you are being incredibly coy about this. What does it matter to you if our dear Alfred was founded by Puritans?”   
  
“It means that—damn it,” Arthur cursed. “He hasn’t _experience_ with the world, since he spent so many of his first years believing in isolationism and religious morality, you daft—”  
  
“I believe we had very good relations in his first years,” Francis interrupted, with a smile.   
  
Arthur scowled, as he was wont to do whenever things got too close to mentioning Alfred’s revolution. “You,” he said tightly, “are a bastard.”   
  
And with that, Arthur stomped away, shoving the door open and stomping his way into the meeting room. Francis stayed where he was, in front of the refreshments table, and hummed out a quiet exhalation of confusion. He tossed his unfinished, unfortunate pastry into the wastebasket before slinking his way after Arthur, gliding into the room with the proper dignity to counterbalance Arthur’s ungentlemanly return to the room. As he seated himself back down into his seat, Matthew was frowning at his lap.   
  
It really was annoying, to be surrounded by anger and not possibly know the reason for it.   
  
“Mathieu,” Francis said, under his breath, as Alfred shoved Ludwig out of the way so he could give his presentation on robots or some such nonsense—Francis wasn’t paying attention, honestly—“If I may have a word…”  
  
“Weren’t you going to pay rapt attention?” Matthew interrupted in a hush, his eyes on his brother to make sure he hadn’t noticed that he and Francis weren’t paying attention.   
  
“I must admit I could not help but notice your cold attitude towards me _aujourd'hui._ ”   
  
Matthew frowned. There was just the slightest flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Well…”  
  
“It is because I did not call to wish you happy holidays, _n’est pas?_ ” Francis asked, because honestly he could not guess.   
  
Matthew’s expression darkened considerably. It was a look he often reserved only for Alfred, after he’d done something particularly stupid. “ _NO._ ”   
  
He spoke it loud enough that Alfred actually paused in rattling off his latest harebrained ideas, and gave Matthew a stricken look. “What do you _mean_ no, Mattie?”   
  
“I—I—I—” Matthew stuttered, intelligently. He looked bewildered for just a moment, scraping his mind for a reason for the sudden interruption.   
  
But Alfred did not seem all that concerned, because with a shrug he said, “You just wait until the end, Matt. I swear it’s awesome!”   
  
And then he continued barreling through his presentation, pointing to his slides rather enthusiastically, and ignoring or missing entirely the continued mixture of bewilderment and exasperation from his brother.   
  
Assured that Alfred was back in his silly-plan-land, Matthew whipped his attention back to Francis. “It wasn’t _me_ you should have called.”  
  
Francis stared at Matthew.   
  
“Ah…”  
  
“Do you really have no shame at all?” Matthew hissed under his breath, with a quick glance toward Alfred to make sure the other brother hadn’t noticed the meeting’s host’s complete lack of attention. (Of course Alfred hadn’t noticed.)   
  
“Mathieu…” Francis began.  
  
“You have a lot of nerve acting so pleasant to him after ignoring him for months on end!” Matthew continued, his face heating up, fueled on to aggression he so rarely expressed, but it seemed his protectiveness of his brother outweighed his need to be pleasant and diplomatic. “And I—whatever you did to him—”  
  
“Aaah, so he told you about our night of passion,” Francis said with a gentle sigh.  
  
“ _No,_ he didn’t. I have no idea what you did to him,” Matthew muttered, “But I knew it had to be _something._ ”  
  
“Well, Mathieu, if you’d like an encore, I may show you hands on what I—”  
  
“He gets all tight-lipped whenever I asked about it,” Matthew interrupted, scowling. He leaned in close, to make sure no one sitting around them could hear, and continued to hiss to Francis, “But I could tell you’d _done_ something, cause after the meetings let out, he came to visit me. And he did seem relaxed. But he kept checking his cell phone obsessively as if waiting for someone to call and when I kept pressing it—you _really_ have no shame.”   
  
“ _Pardon_? I am not the one imposing myself into other people’s one-night stands,” Francis said with a small sigh, and tapped his finger on Matthew’s nose. “You are such a protective brother, aaah _bon_. What I would do fo—”  
  
“ _One-night stand?_ That’s really all it was to you?” Matthew hissed. “I know you do that kind of thing with almost anyone, Francis, but this is _Alfred._ You should have been a little more gentle considering it was his—”  
  
Matthew cut himself off abruptly, and scowled. Red-faced, he jerked his face away for a minute, muttering some curses in French that not even Francis could catch in his accent and in the rapid-fire way he spoke.   
  
Then he jerked his face back towards Francis, frowning deeply.   
  
“He wanted you to call!” Matthew hissed. “I just know it.”  
  
“We both agreed it would be for one night,” Francis said with a sigh, “It was to help him relax a little—”  
  
“Tell me, Francis,” Matthew said, deadly serious, looking straight into Francis’ eyes, “Is _this_ how you treat all the people you sleep with?”   
  
“Mathieu,” Francis said, feeling his own lips quirk down into a frown. “You should not be so quick into making me into a bad man. Alfred and I were in complete accord, and I had his consent.”   
  
“How could Alfred know how it’s supposed to work? He’s only had other people and movies to go off of how things work—!”  
  
“Don’t be so foolish, Mathieu, I’m sure that Alfred has had many number of one-night stands—”  
  
Matthew shook his head. “He hasn’t.”   
  
“Then many a relationship that has—”  
  
Matthew shook his head again, slower this time. “Francis. He _hasn’t._ ”   
  
Francis went still. “No relationships or one-night stands?”   
  
There was a long, long silence.   
  
Matthew nodded, grave. “Alfred was a virgin, Francis.”   
  
There was a very long pause, as those words sank in. Francis stared at Matthew, who stared back at him, his face set in a grim line.   
  
“… _Pardon_?” Francis asked, mystified.  
  
Matthew sighed angrily through his teeth. “You were his first time, Francis. He was a virgin.”   
  
“A...”  
  
“ _Virgin._ Are you _listening?_ ”   
  
Francis shook his head, still mystified, his mind whirling a mile a minute. His eyes shifted to Alfred, who was pointing enthusiastically at a picture on a slide, his face wide and the colors from the presentation’s slide gliding over his face. And then the words settled in his mind, and the meaning finally settled, and—  
  
“ _UN VIERGE?_ ” Francis shouted, loudly. So loudly, in fact, that the other francophone countries paused in whatever they were doing (most were at least trying to make sense of Alfred’s presentation) and stared at Francis in confusion.   
  
He spoke loudly enough, as well, that even Alfred faltered in his presentation, his large blue eyes blinking once and then widening as he recognized the word. Francis wasn’t looking at the other countries now, who were all staring at Francis with bemusement, because Francis’ attention was solely on Alfred—staring at him in disbelief. No, it could not be true. It couldn’t—  
  
It could not possibly be true.   
  
Alfred’s face heated up. The blush crept its way up his neck, over his face, and settled pleasantly on the tips of his ears. In any other situation, Francis would have found the expression incredibly endearing. But all Francis could do was gape, and flop back into his chair when Matthew effortlessly yanked at his suit jacket’s sleeve. He sat in his chair, staring at Alfred for a gaping moment before Alfred, still blushing, jerked his face away and stared out the window like it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.  
  
Then Alfred cleared his throat and said, loudly, “ANYWAY, as I was saying…”  
  
But his voice sounded tight.   
  
Oh god.   
  
“What have I done?” Francis moaned into his hands. “ _Un vierge! Il est vierge!_ ”  
  
“Well, he isn’t anymore,” Matthew muttered, voice clipped.  
  
Francis moaned into his hands some more. “ _Il était vierge! Oh mon dieu…_ ”  
  
Matthew sighed, glancing over at his brother, who was staring down at his notes quite earnestly and refusing to look up, his face a bright red all the way up to his ears. He kept clearing his throat and speaking in a slightly strained voice, but it seemed only Matthew (and Arthur) was (were) aware of the difference. With another sigh, Matthew patted Francis’ shoulder.  
  
“You didn’t know?” he whispered.  
  
“No,” Francis moaned, and dropped his hands, sitting bolt upright. “No, I did not!”   
  
“Oh,” Matthew said, quietly.   
  
When Alfred’s speech ended, he called a spontaneous recess (which Ludwig protested adamantly) and dashed out of the room before anyone could stop him, snatching his bomber jacket from the back of his chair and storming out.   
  
Francis was still sitting too straight in his chair, still bemoaning his fate.   
  
Matthew stayed beside him, and sighed. “I thought you _knew._ ”  
  
“How is it that you and _Arthur_ know and yet here I am, completely taken by surprise?” Francis said with an overly dramatic sigh. Matthew rolled his eyes, seized Francis by the arm, and dragged him away from the conference table, so the other nations would not overhear what he was about to say. Francis was not paying attention to what was around him, and did not protest when Matthew took him to the corner of the room, near the large window, and worried at his lower lip as he stared up at Francis.  
  
“Arthur found out by accident,” Matthew said as way of disclaimer. “And I know because I’m his brother and he tells me more things I ever, ever needed or wanted to know.”   
  
“Oh mon dieu,” Francis continued. “Un vierge…”  
  
“… You’re really unhappy about this,” Matthew said, sounding disbelieving.   
  
“Mathieu,” Francis said, gravely, clapping his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Believe of me as you will, but you must know that I treat _les vierges_ entirely different from how I treat the experienced.”   
  
Matthew gave him a deadpanned look.   
  
Francis was undeterred by this. “I did not use your brother, you must understand. I only did it to help our _petit lapin_ relax.”   
  
Matthew’s brow furrowed, and he slanted his eyes away. “You’re sure it’s what he wanted?”  
  
“ _Oui,_ ” Francis said, equally as grave. “I do not force people for pleasure, _mon cher._ ”   
  
“But if he didn’t say anything because he’s—”  
  
“Mathieu,” Francis said, and squeezed his shoulders, trying to comfort the distraught boy. “I did not ill treat your brother.”  
  
“You should have called him,” Matthew muttered, scowling.   
  
“… _Oui,_ ” Francis murmured. “I should have called him.”   
  
Matthew nodded, pacified with that concession. But he still seemed bothered, still seemed rather unhappy, and even when Francis tried to squeeze his shoulders in comfort, Matthew continued to look perturbed.   
  
“Look, Francis,” Matthew muttered. “I don’t… he’s my brother, and I—”  
  
He cut himself off, scowling further. Francis sighed, and leaned down so that he could capture Matthew’s eyes—such a beautiful color—and offered a small smile, not one laced with his stunning good looks and charms (for, truly, who could resist Francis?), but one he hoped would prove his sincerity to the boy.   
  
“You are a good brother, Mathieu,” he said. “I am glad that he has someone looking out for him like this.”   
  
“… Hm,” Matthew grunted, cheeks turning red.   
  
Francis’s smile widened and he lifted his hands, cupping the blushing cheeks. Matthew did not protest the touch, and even seemed to relax a little. He only looked a little huffy.   
  
“If he knew he had such a brother, he would certainly thank you.”  
  
“He’s too stubborn and oblivious to ever notice these things,” Matthew said with a roll of his eyes, and though he did not smile, there was a touch of amusement to the twitch of his lips.   
  
“So, for him, I shall say _merci, Mathieu,_ ” Francis said, pleasantly.   
  
“… Yeah.”   
  
“Though I will thank you in the future not to discuss mine and your brother’s sex life with Arthur,” Francis said with a dramatic sigh, dropping his hands away so that he could smooth his hands over his silk shirt. “He is truly a brute when being protective.”   
  
“It was an accident,” Matthew muttered, blushing. “He… heard me talking to myself. It happens when most people don’t realize you’re there. They always notice when you don’t want to be noticed.”   
  
Francis laughed. “Of course.”   
  
Matthew coughed into his hand, blushing still. “I’m sorry… for being angry with you.”  
  
“Aaah, I cannot stay angry with you,” Francis murmured, curling his arm around Matthew’s shoulder, tugging him to his side. “You are too cute for me to resist.”   
  
Matthew made a slightly strangled noise. And he blushed further, elbowing Francis in the side, far gentler than either Alfred or Arthur ever elbowed Francis. Francis laughed and slunk away, adjusting the lapels of his suit.   
  
“ _Bien,_ ” he said, beaming. “Now, Mathieu, if we have cleared the air between us, I must take my leave.”  
  
“Huh?” Matthew asked. “Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes, of course, Francis.”   
  
Francis smiled, grasped Matthew’s hands, raising it slightly as if to kiss his knuckles. He paused after a moment however, and for once hesitated. He lowered the hand, squeezed it and lifted his other hand to pat at Matthew’s cheek.   
  
“ _Au revoir,_ ” he said, still smiling, and made his exit.   
  
“Ah, but… the meeting isn’t over yet…”  
  
Francis smiled over his shoulder.   
  
“It is for me,” he said, and closed the door behind him as he left the conference room.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
He found Alfred crumpling up a Styrofoam cup and throwing it into the trash. He watched the boy seize a new cup and pour a new cup of coffee. So wasteful. He watched the tension in Alfred’s back, saw the way his ears were still a bright red. He saw the shaking hand lift the cup to his lips, and watched the boy take a long drink.   
  
Francis strolled up to him, grasped his shoulder, and spun him around, pressing him up against the table.   
  
Alfred squawked in surprise, and then recognized Francis. “Ow—Jesus, Francis!”   
  
“ _Mon lapin,_ ” Francis greeted, and eased his hold on Alfred lest he hurt him. “Why did you not tell me?”  
  
“Tell you what?” Alfred asked, cryptically, looking up at the ceiling and trying to nonchalantly drink from his coffee cup.   
  
Francis took the coffee cup from him and set it down on the table. Then he curled his fingers into Alfred’s tie, tugging it very slightly.   
  
“That our night together was the only night you’d ever had,” Francis drawled, and watched the way Alfred blushed further.   
  
“Uh, you know… it just didn’t come up.”  
  
Francis raised one brow.   
  
Alfred grinned, sunny and only slightly forced, but Francis did not back off—he continued to break Alfred’s personal bubble, continued to stand too close, his hold on Alfred’s tie refusing to slacken.   
  
“I was gonna say so,” Alfred muttered after a long moment, his grin faltering. He cleared his throat. Francis watched the way his throat stiffened and shifted as he swallowed. “I just… didn’t.”   
  
“And why not?”  
  
Alfred just kind of glared at him, face red.  
  
“Do not tell me you are embarrassed?” Francis purred. “Oh, _mon lapin…_ ”  
  
“Hey, shut up,” Alfred protested, slamming his eyes shut as his face continued to flame. “I’m just—I dunno. Didn’t want you to laugh.”  
  
“I would never laugh at such a thing,” Francis murmured, and smoothed his hands over Alfred’s shoulders. “But I’m afraid you have upset all my sensibilities.”  
  
“Huh?” Alfred asked, intelligently.   
  
“I did not treat you with the passion you deserved!”  
  
“Huh?” Alfred asked again. He stared at Francis as if he was deranged.   
  
“Passion, _mon lapin!_ Surely you felt it that night! But it was not the right… form!”   
  
“I, uh,” Alfred muttered. “I liked it, though.”   
  
“And nothing makes me happier than to hear that,” Francis drawled, and stepped back, seizing Alfred’s hand in his own and holding it tight. “However,” he continued, “It was done entirely wrong. I do not make love to virgins the way I make love to the experienced, _mon cher._ ”   
  
“Uh…”  
  
“For that reason,” Francis said, raising Alfred’s hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss across his knuckles, eyes on Alfred’s, and refusing to look away. “I must insist on a—what is the word—a ‘start anew’?”   
  
“A do-over?”  
  
“ _Oui,_ ” Francis said. “I must do-over you.”   
  
“You want a do-over,” Alfred muttered, as if he did not believe the words himself.   
  
“ _Oui._ ”   
  
“I…” Alfred began, and then fidgeted. So awkward, so young.   
  
Francis curled his hands into Alfred’s hair, and drew the boy’s face to his—kissing him. He kissed him softly, chastely. He kept his lips pressed closed as he slipped them across Alfred’s.   
  
And when he pulled back, he murmured, “You want to do it again, do you not?”   
  
Alfred swallowed, and only managed to nod. “ _Oui._ ”   
  
Francis smiled, low and sultry and full of need. “ _Moi aussi._ ”   
  
Alfred did not miss the look, and he closed his eyes, nodding a little. Francis smoothed his fingers through his hair, and drew him down for another kiss. This time, Alfred responded, his hands falling sloppily to Francis’ hips and holding him close as Francis kissed him, long, hard, and slow.   
  
When Francis pulled away, Alfred tried to follow him, and Francis, smiling, pressed his fingers to Alfred’s lips.   
  
“Come with me,” Francis murmured.  
  
“Okay,” Alfred said without hesitation.   
  
Francis drew away further, still holding Alfred’s hand, and tugged him along. It was time for a re-do.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
A short time later found Francis pressing Alfred down onto the bed and following him, his mouth pressed against Alfred’s own. Alfred kissed back enthusiastically, as fit his personality. He opened his mouth to Francis and Francis swept his tongue in, tracing the corners of the other nation’s mouth. He felt fingers drag into his hair and he hummed against Alfred’s mouth, approving of the boy’s resolve.   
  
“Oh, _mon lapin,_ ” Francis breathed when he pulled away, fingers pulling at the knot of Alfred’s tie, undoing it with no difficulty and going to the buttons of his shirt next. “You are so lovely to kiss.”  
  
“Ah, geez,” Alfred said, grinning but still blushing.   
  
Francis returned the smile and kissed at his chin, working his way down the boy’s neck as he peeled open Alfred’s shirt one button at a time. He let his lips pillow down Alfred’s skin, tasting him again and delighting in the quiet hitches in Alfred’s breath. He focused on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his neck, the dip of his collarbone. He kissed every available inch of skin, moving slowly, languidly, much more precise in his movements than he had the last time.   
  
“Remember to relax, _mon cher,_ ” Francis purred.  
  
“I am,” Alfred protested, hands stroking through Francis’ hair in encouragement to Francis’ actions.   
  
Francis smiled in his victory, peeling off Alfred’s clothes one by one and letting them fall away from the bed until Alfred laid there, naked, aroused, and staring up at him with flushed cheeks and parted, kiss-swollen lips.   
  
“You are beautiful,” Francis told him.   
  
Alfred let out a rush of air. “Well, shoot.”   
  
He laughed, but Francis only smiled, dipping in again to drag his tongue and teeth over the long expanse of Alfred’s chest, his hands pinning him down by the hips and refusing to touch where he knew Alfred wanted to be touched, if the quiet breaths and gasps of his name were anything to go by. He stroked his thumbs along the cut of Alfred’s hipbones as his lips followed the line of Alfred’s muscles. He hadn’t focused too heavily on the foreplay their first time, but he would remedy that tonight. He would give Alfred a night to remember.   
  
He rubbed a circle around Alfred’s naval, pulling away slightly to regard the boy. Alfred stared up at him, eyes bright, face flushed. Francis smiled and Alfred returned the gesture with a wide, slightly overwhelmed grin.   
  
“Should I have taken you to dinner first, I wonder?” Francis said, his voice coming out in a soft purr.   
  
Alfred wrinkled his nose, still grinning. “You promised me a redo, Francis. Get on with it.”  
  
“So impatient,” Francis said. “I suppose little rabbits do like to hurry from place to place. However,” he continued, dragging his hand up along Alfred’s side, pulling his fingers slowly over the lines of Alfred’s ribs. “I take things slow, with beautiful virgins. I wait until they are overwhelmed.”   
  
“Jesus,” Alfred breathed, rolling his hips and only half-listening as he attempted to get the remaining hand on his hip over onto his cock. Francis ignored this movement, and gripped his hip tighter, leaning in to kiss at Alfred’s jaw. Alfred’s mouth fell open in other quiet, blasphemous exhalations, and Francis shifted again to capture his air, slipping his tongue into Alfred’s mouth and meeting Alfred’s own tongue in a quiet battle.   
  
Alfred was not one to admit defeat, but soon enough, with a stroke of his hip, his ribs, and his tongue, he let out a quiet moan that Francis greedily swallowed. Alfred’s hands palmed at Francis’ clothes, pulling at his shirt and stripping him down clumsily as he attempted to keep kissing Francis. Francis laughed, pulling away occasionally if only to see Alfred scramble, kissing at the underside of his chin and his jaw, nosing against his jaw and wispy golden hair falling into his eyes in his attempts to capture Francis.   
  
Alfred tugged, wanting to pull their torsos flushed together, and Francis allowed him this, drifting in close to him, sliding up against him and rolling his hips in just a way that Alfred couldn’t bite back the quiet gasp. He tipped his head back, arching against the mattress as Francis planted his hands on either side of Alfred’s head, rubbing up against him and kissing at his collarbone, biting down in places. He laid worship to Alfred’s skin and body, lying over him, pressing down in just the right places, rotating his hips, dragging his parted lips across the golden skin. And all the while, Alfred panted below him, gripping at his shoulders, sliding down his arms, grasping at his hips and arching up.   
  
“Fuck,” Alfred gasped quietly when Francis rolled a figure eight against his hips. Alfred’s hands fumbled at Francis’ belt. “Fuck, Francis—fuck…”   
  
“Patience,” Francis reminded with a small smile as he kissed at Alfred’s shoulder and down his chest, kissing at his solar plexus and drifting down to kiss at his naval. The action took his body away from Alfred’s own, and Alfred whined low at the absence. Francis moved his body down, grasping Alfred’s hips and kissing at his panting belly, kissing along the dip of his hips, followed the light trail of hair leading down from his belly button—only to pull away, much to Alfred’s whining chagrin.   
  
“More,” Alfred whispered, quietly, voice heavy with lust.   
  
Francis smiled in silent victory, running his hands down the chorded muscles of Alfred’s thighs, tracing the twitches and pulses of his muscles, the curve of his legs. He spread his legs, and Alfred willingly relented, arching his back. But Francis merely laid kisses along his inner thighs, the sides of his knees, and back up over the tops of his thighs, his hips, his waist again. He watched Alfred bite at his lip and Francis smiled against the curve of his hipbone, kissing slowly, dragging his teeth and tongue over the soft taste of flesh.   
  
Finally, Francis took pity on the boy’s keening whispers, the arch of his back. He leaned in and kissed at the tip of Alfred’s hard cock, and delighted in the quiet gasp from Alfred. Francis cupped the cock in his hand, stroking it slowly as he laid a few haphazard kisses against the stiffened flesh.   
  
Alfred’s movements were still jerky and clumsy, as before, but he seemed to move with more confidence now as he cupped the back of Francis’ head, stroking his hair, trying to pull him closer. Francis did move in closer, letting the cock slip into his mouth and dragging his tongue up along the underside. He took advantage of Alfred’s stuttering gasp, however, to pull away and climb up to Alfred. He kept one hand on Alfred’s cock, stroking slowly and languidly, trying to cause the coiling ache to build inside Alfred. He smiled at Alfred, rocking his hips in time to the rock of his hand.   
  
“ _Mon lapin,_ ” Francis breathed, coaxing Alfred to open his eyes with stray kisses to his face. Alfred’s eyes flickered open, and Francis was there to meet his eyes, smiling. Alfred returned the smile, cupping Francis’ face and murmuring against his mouth when he pulled him in for a kiss. Alfred shifted his hips in little jerks, grinding against Francis’ hand. Alfred’s kisses were slow and heavy, sloppy but sincere. Francis enjoyed kissing him, and tipped his head forward further to deepen the kiss, pressing up close to Alfred’s shuddering body.   
  
Alfred’s hands worked at Francis’ belt, finally manage to tug it off. His ears were bright pink as he worked, and Francis ducked his head, kissing at those pink ears with a delighted smile. Alfred’s large hands, clumsy but determined, pulled at the belt and Francis’ pants. He tugged the pants down, and Francis pulled away to help slip out of them and his underwear. Both naked now, when Francis pressed down against Alfred, their cocks slid together. Alfred jerked his hips up a couple of times, involuntarily, building the friction.   
  
“Always so eager,” Francis murmured, and Alfred just shook his head and leaned up to kiss at Francis’ mouth, biting softly at his lower lip. Francis’ smile only widened—he was learning.   
  
Alfred’s breath came out in short little flurries as Francis leaned away, briefly, from Alfred. He pulled the bedside table’s drawer open and retrieved the bottle of lube. As if sensing what Francis wanted before even asking it of him, Alfred held out his hand and wrapped his hand around the tube, warming it as he had the last time. Francis’ smile only softened at that, and he seized the hand, kissing at the large knuckles there.   
  
The hand on Alfred’s cock moved slowly again, dragging from root to tip in an achingly slow movement. Alfred jerked his hips a few times again, but Francis ignored the silent plea for more frenzied movements. His long, nimble fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed only to uncurl and drift feather-light across the aching skin. His thumb circled around the cockhead, and watched the way Alfred’s face rippled in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut and mouth flopping open in his pleasure.   
  
“Sit up, _mon lapin,_ ” Francis purred and pulled away. Alfred did not need to be asked twice, sitting up and shifting as if to turn around, to the position he’d taken before. “ _Non,_ ” Francis interrupted, touching his shoulder and turning him back. “Not yet.”   
  
Alfred almost pouted, but Francis kissed him and stroked his cock until the boy forgot to be annoyed and was left as only a whimpering pile of delicious beauty lying out before Francis, his to take and taste. Francis kissed down his chest again, hands stroking over the length of the boy’s body. He dragged Alfred closer, and Alfred sighed, leaning back against the headboard and spreading his legs as he realized Francis’ descent and waited for it with bated breath. Francis took Alfred’s cock into his mouth, briefly, swirling his tongue along the cockhead and tasting him yet again.   
  
Alfred jerked up again, and Francis held him down, loosening his throat and bobbing his head, taking more of the cock into his mouth. He pressed the cock into his cheek, laved his tongue along it, and then shifted his head, slowly moving his head down until the cock slipped further into his throat. He hummed, pleasantly, and stroked his tongue along the underside, hollowing his cheek and stroking his fingers along Alfred’s inner thighs. Alfred bit at his lip, letting his head fall back, fingers tangling into Francis’ long hair. Francis continued these ministrations for some time, but pulled away quickly enough—lest Alfred climaxed before he could truly overwhelm him as he was meant to.   
  
The boy opened his mouth to protest the absence of Francis’ mouth, but Francis only smiled, passing his thumb over Alfred’s lip-swollen lips. “All in good time, _mon bel homme._ ”   
  
“Shit,” Alfred panted out, as if just realizing something. He pressed his hand to Francis’ chest, dragging it down a little. “Shit, I haven’t done anything for you. I—”  
  
“In good time,” Francis repeated, seizing the hand and kissing at the knuckles again. “My pleasure is your pleasure.” His eyes glittered as he added, “Seeing _mon lapin_ spread out like this before me is enough to make me feel warm for many nights.”   
  
Alfred bit his lip again and closed his eyes, breathing out in shaky little flurries. Francis smiled, opening Alfred’s other hand slowly and retrieving the container of lubricant from him. Alfred’s eyes flickered open and he asked, “Should I turn over?”  
  
“Not tonight,” Francis said with a sage nod. “I wish to see every little expression you make tonight. I want to see the way you gasp and moan as I take you.”   
  
“Shit,” Alfred said again and slipped down from his sitting position, sprawling out beneath Francis. His hair fanned out along the pillow and he blinked owlishly up at Francis with his hand strewn haphazardly on either side of his head. “Shit,” he said again. “Francis…”   
  
“Ah, to hear my name on your tongue,” Francis purred, opening the tube and pouring a liberal amount of lubricant into his hand. “I surely am the luckiest man alive.”   
  
Alfred shook his head absently. Francis only smiled in reply, finding such modesty to be endearing, no matter how many times he witnessed such things from Alfred. And how beautiful Alfred was, sprawled out like that. Francis rubbed his fingers together, spreading the lubricant evenly, much slower than necessary—if only to take the time to drink such a sight in. The way his hair fanned out along the pillow, yet pressed to his lightly sweaty forehead. The panting chest. The little bite marks left on his collarbone and neck. The flush of his golden body. The strain of his hard cock.   
  
Alfred stared at him with his wide blue eyes, and Francis felt an overwhelming sensation of adoration and tenderness for the boy. He leaned in, pecking at his lips, but pulling away when Alfred went to deepen it.   
  
“ _Mon cher,_ ” Francis said absently. “ _Tu es un très bel homme, n’est pas?_ ”  
  
“Ah…” Alfred said, eyes hooded.  
  
“The answer is most certainly _oui,_ ” Francis reminded.   
  
Alfred closed his eyes and arched his back when one hand, coated in lubricant, stroked at Alfred’s cock. He stroked slowly, palming at the cock for a moment before withdrawing, leaving only his fingers to dance along the length of his cock.   
  
Alfred made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, almost lost among the quiet moans and flurrying breath. “Come on…!”  
  
“So impatient,” Francis purred, yet again, his other hand pushing against each of Alfred’s legs in turn, spreading him. Once Alfred obeyed the unspoken command, Francis slipped his hand underneath him. “Tip your hips up, _mon cher._ ”   
  
Alfred did as he was told and, slowly, Francis circled his finger around the ring of muscles he found there. He felt Alfred still beneath him, body bent in expectation, chest quivering with his breath and the sensations shooting through his veins. Francis stroked his cock slowly as his finger just as slowly pushed into him. Alfred tipped his head back and arched his body, forcing himself to relax and loosen up as Francis squeezed into him.   
  
Francis laughed quietly, not cruelly but good-naturedly, watching the way the boy responded. He would never grow tired of these reactions—nothing like his other partners, who had become tired and true, bored with sex as if it were an everyday practice. Francis delighted in every little quick gasp of air, every exhalation of his name, every curve and arch and pulse of muscles, every taste of Alfred.   
  
As Francis slowly pushed in a second finger, Alfred curled his hand around the back of Francis’ neck and forced him down to kiss him again. Francis couldn’t bite back the pleasantly surprised moan when he felt Alfred’s hand on his own cock, pumping it vigorously in his hand, as if trying to personally show Francis how picking up the pace was more desirable. But Francis understood Alfred’s motives, knew what would drive him wild and make him completely open and gasping for him and only him.   
  
He pushed his fingers in and out of his body, feeling Alfred pick up the pace and follow him, rocking in time to his movements. Francis continued this pace, smiling in response to all of Alfred’s little movements, his mouth opening and closing, his breath coming out in quiet little flutters. Francis feathered his lips over his available skin as he laid waste to the boy’s sensations, watching him arch and writhe beneath him.   
  
He slowed his pace down, presently, as he slipped in a third finger, fingering him and watching him silently curse when the movement slowed to a crawl. He pushed his fingers in, spread them, stroked him, and slowly drew back. He repeated the movement, moving slower and slower with each passing moment—he thrived in watching Alfred’s flush body hum with pleasure and expectation, writhed as the aching desire coiled into a tight spring in the base of his gut.   
  
“Shall I take you now?” Francis whispered against Alfred’s inner thigh, stroking the length of muscles with his lips and smiling up at Alfred.   
  
Alfred didn’t reply beyond a keening little gasp. Francis took that for all the answer he needed.   
  
He shifted up, removing his hand and cupping Alfred around the backs of his knees, hoisting the legs up and stroking his hand over his own cock, coating himself with the left over lubricant. His thumbs placed at the bumps of Alfred’s knees as he nudged himself comfortably between Alfred’s legs. He guided his cock, rubbing it up against Alfred’s for a brief moment before sliding down between him, shifting Alfred’s body and sliding his cockhead into him.   
  
Alfred gasped out quietly and tensed up.   
  
“You remember me,” Francis murmured, feathering kisses along Alfred’s jaw. “Relax for me, _mon bel homme._ ”   
  
Alfred didn’t respond, but Francis did feel him relax in his hold. He pushed in a little further, feeling Alfred open up to him.   
  
“Mmm,” Francis purred, and Alfred tipped his head back, cracking his eyes open halfway to stare up at Francis. Francis smiled, sultry and low. “ _Mon lapin_.”   
  
Alfred’s eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes again. Francis’ smile widened and he slid into Alfred, achingly slow, one painful inch by painful inch. He could feel the ache in his own bones. He focused on that ache, focused on the slowness with which he drove up against Alfred. Alfred was there to meet him, his hips fluttering up and down in his attempts to draw Francis in more and more.   
  
“Mm,” Francis purred. “It feels so nice to be inside you.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Alfred moaned, and covered his face with his arms even as he curled his legs around Francis’ hips, dragging him closer as best he could, “You are so embarrassing.”   
  
At the movement, Francis’ hands fell away, and he laughed simply. His hands stroked over his legs, up his sides, along his neck, and curled around his chin. He drew Alfred up, and Alfred scrambled to meet him in a lopsided, sloppy kiss. He planted his hands behind him, shoulders hunched, body quivering as Francis slid in his cock and his tongue.   
  
Once up to the hilt, Francis waited. Alfred writhed, trying to force some kind of movement. “Damn it,” he moaned, “Move. Move…”  
  
“In good time,” Francis murmured. “I am appreciating you, Alfred.”   
  
Alfred blew out a long sigh through his nose, eyes flickering up and staring at Francis. He leaned back against the pillow again, and Francis grasped his hands, pinning them down to the bed and leaning down over him. Alfred’s heels pressed into the small of Francis’ back hopefully.   
  
“Does it feel good, _mon cher?_ ” Francis asked.  
  
Alfred made a soft noise and rolled his hips. “Yeah.”   
  
“ _Oui?_ ” Francis asked, eyes sparkling.  
  
“ _Oui,_ ” Alfred repeated absently, focusing on the feel of Francis being in him, jerking his hips up and trying to tug Francis closer by his hands and feet. “Come on, Francis.”   
  
“You are more confident tonight than before,” Francis purred.   
  
“Yeah, well…” Alfred trailed off, and blushed. So sweet, even in situations like this.   
  
Francis leaned in and kissed at Alfred’s eyelid when the boy closed his eyes. “ _Bien._ ”   
  
And then he thrust up into Alfred and Alfred gasped out, clinging to his shoulders and his entire body arching. Francis jerked his hips up to meet Alfred’s, driving in further and striking something deep inside Alfred that caused the other nation to gasp out, flopping against the mattress, boneless for one blissful moment. Francis smiled in his victory and continued the pace, drawing out of Alfred slowly until only the head of his cock was inside him, and then thrusting up sharply into the boy’s willing body. Alfred’s body rocked and he moaned loudly, nails digging haphazardly into the skin of Francis’ shoulders. Francis thrived on those sounds, driving in further and harder with each thrust, delighting in Alfred’s gasps and hitched breath.   
  
“You are so warm,” Francis murmured against Alfred’s ear as he pressed his torso up against Alfred’s, feeling his cock plumped up between their bodies, feeling Alfred quiver and shudder with each strike of his cock inside him.   
  
“Fuck,” Alfred moaned.  
  
Francis thrust in sharply. “You are so tight.”   
  
This time, Alfred’s response was a soundless gasp, his mouth open but no words escaping. Francis’ smile softened in his tenderness as he kissed at the corner of his opened mouth.   
  
“You are so wonderful,” Francis whispered, dragging his mouth down his jaw. “ _Mon lapin._ Oh, _mon lapin._ ”   
  
Alfred, panting, dragged his hands down Francis’ back, following the bumps of his spine and the curve of his shoulder blades. He pulled Francis down, kissing him and writhing against him, rubbing his cock up against Francis’ stomach. His body tightened up just in time for Francis to thrust in, and the friction was enough to leave them both gasping.   
  
“Francis,” Alfred whined. “Harder.”   
  
“So bold,” Francis said, smiling and his eyes sparkling. He did as was commanded of him, though, and used his entire force to thrust up into Alfred’s body. Alfred bodily shifted on the mattress, moaning all the while, his mouth opened but curved into a smile. Francis released the boy’s hands to cup the top of Alfred’s head, to keep him from slamming up against the headboard, and continued the drilling, forceful pattern into him, the bed squeaking beneath their ministrations. Francis continued, renewing his force whenever Alfred commanded it of him—which was quite often.   
  
One hand still on the top of Alfred’s head, protecting him from the headboard, Francis dragged his other hand down between them, fisting around Alfred’s cock and pumping his cock in time with his thrusts. Alfred at this point had lost all coherency, and no longer tried to speak, his entire body quivering and shuddering beneath Francis’ ministrations. Francis did not relent until he felt Alfred spilling out onto his hand, warm and wet around his fingertips. Alfred panted below him and Francis continued his thrusts, and keeping his hand around Alfred’s cock even as he began to soften in his hold.   
  
It was not much longer after that before Francis found his own release, thrusting one last time up into Alfred and feeling himself spill inside the boy’s pliant body. The only sounds in his ears were the sounds of his own heartbeat and Alfred’s pants. He writhed above Alfred, thrusting a few more times until Alfred had milked him dry. With a gentle sigh, Francis leaned down, kissing at Alfred’s collarbone and shoulders.   
  
“ _Bien,_ ” he murmured.   
  
His response from Alfred was a sleepy moan.   
  
“No sleeping now,” Francis murmured, kissing at the kiss-swollen lips and feeling Alfred respond with hooded eyes. “You must bathe, _mon bel homme._ ”   
  
“But…”  
  
“I’ll go after you,” Francis said with a sage nod, and sat up a little, still holding onto Alfred and feeling Alfred’s legs still coiled around his hips. Alfred slowly unwound from Francis, lying back against the bed with a gentle, contented sigh. Francis regretfully pulled out of him, already missing the warm tightness of the boy’s body.   
  
“Fine,” Alfred said with a sigh, and rolled over.  
  
Francis let his body roam over the boy’s strong, muscular back, slightly sweaty, slightly bruised, and the gentle curve of his backside. Before he could get too far away, Francis slid over on the bed and grasped Alfred’s hips from behind just as Alfred was moving to get up. Alfred paused, looking over his shoulder as Francis dragged himself over to Alfred and stood up, kissing at his back and down his spine and back up again, settling on the back of his neck and kissing him.   
  
“Now go,” Francis murmured, pushing his hands against Alfred’s ass and beckoning him over towards the bathroom.   
  
“Kay,” Alfred said with a laugh, ducking away with a bright blush and a wide smile.   
  
Francis sighed and sat back on the bed once Alfred had gone. He spent the minutes it took for Alfred to bathe putting the bed in order again and checking his phone—and seeing messages from both Arthur and Matthew wondering where the hell he’d gone off to with Alfred (as if they could have no idea!). There were some messages from Ludwig wondering the same thing, though the suggestion of a tryst was lacking in the message and was more of an inquiry on roll call.   
  
Francis, perfectly content, leaned back against the bed, not bothering to get dressed.   
  
A short while later, Alfred emerged, hair all fluffed up and rumpled, face still bright red with a healthy glow, and wearing a bathrobe. Francis stood and curled his way over to Alfred and Alfred, noticing the nakedness instantly, froze, eyes wide.   
  
Francis smiled and kissed at Alfred’s mouth before sliding past him and bathing.   
  
It was a simple shower, and Francis emerged far sooner than Alfred had. He didn’t see Alfred immediately and wondered whether the boy had slipped out. But Francis hadn’t been in the shower for too long and as Francis dressed, he spotted Alfred out on the balcony.   
  
Alfred was outside on the balcony, legs stuck between the bars of the railing, looking out over the scenery and swinging his bare feet in the wind. His hair was still mushed and wet, and his shirt was done up haphazardly. He was humming something to himself, and Francis silently admired him from the bedroom for a long moment, watching the way Alfred’s hair fluttered in the wind, the way the tension had eased so drastically from his shoulders. What Francis saw was a boy without worries, and it warmed his heart.   
  
Francis walked out to join him.  
  
“I hope you are not cold,” Francis murmured in his ear, letting his lips drag slowly over the shell.   
  
Alfred laughed. “Naw, I’m fine.”   
  
He turned his head and grinned as Francis settled in beside him, dragging the hotel balcony’s chair to sit beside Alfred. Alfred shifted, stretching his back and resting his head against Francis’ thigh. Francis did not protest the touch—indeed, he welcomed it—and stroked his fingers through Alfred’s still-wet hair. They stayed like that for a long moment.   
  
And then Alfred, still looking content and slightly sleepy, murmured against Francis’ thigh, “My ass is going to hurt later.”   
  
“Perhaps,” Francis agreed with a twitch to his lips. And then he couldn’t help it, and laughed.   
  
Alfred didn’t seem insulted by the laughter, and only shrugged. “I don’t mind.”   
  
“Did your brother call?” Francis asked, stroking his fingers on both hands through Alfred’s hair now. Alfred looked up at him, upside down, and nodded. “Ah, of course he would. Our dear Mathieu is so protective of his brother.”   
  
Alfred smiled, and it looked silly with his face upside down like that. He dug around in his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. There was a text waiting from Matthew.   
  
“Arthur called, too, and left a really bitchy voicemail.”   
  
“He only worries,” Francis said with a sigh. “Bless his heart, does he fret. Like an old mother hen.”   
  
Alfred laughed. “Mattie’s an old brother hen, then.”   
  
Francis’s smile didn’t lessen and he shook his head absently, massaging his fingers into Alfred’s scalp. Alfred sighed out, closing his eyes and relaxing against Francis’ thigh, perfectly at ease.   
  
“Your dear Mathieu worries quite a bit, as well, of course,” Francis said, and the cell phone in Alfred’s hand reminded him, distantly, of what Matthew had said before. “Especially when you visited over the winter, and you would spent so much time looking at your phone.”  
  
Alfred opened his eyes, blinking up at Francis. “Huh?”  
  
“Mathieu was under the impression that you were waiting for my call,” Francis said, and though he did not voice the question, it was undoubtedly there.   
  
Alfred’s smile was a bit shy now. “Ha ha, he told you about that?”   
  
“ _Oui._ ”   
  
Alfred shrugged one shoulder and rolled away from Francis’ fingers. He pulled his legs out from between the balcony’s rails and scooted up beside Francis, sitting on the glass table with the ashtray so he could lean over Francis. Francis tipped his head back to look at Alfred, and Alfred studied his face.   
  
And then he leaned in and kissed Francis on the mouth. Francis accepted this kiss warmly.   
  
But quickly enough Alfred pulled away, blushing.  
  
Francis looked at him, still smiling but with the proper gravity when he said, “Should I have called?”   
  
“It’s fine, Mattie just makes things seem more important than they really are. The phone works two ways, anyway,” Alfred said, laughing. “It wasn’t that I was really waiting for your call or anything—I just kept wondering if I should maybe call you or if that would be too clingy or something. It was supposed to be one night, and all. I knew that.”   
  
Francis hummed, and watched Alfred stand to return to the balcony, leaning out over the railing and looking down to the street below. Francis stretched and stroked his hands through his own hair before standing up and slipping his hands up under Alfred’s shirt. He stroked at his chest slowly as he pressed up against him, resting his chin on Alfred’s broad shoulder. He delighted silently in the way Alfred closed his eyes, mouth parting slightly, at the attention.   
  
“It could be more than one night, if that is what you wish,” Francis said.   
  
“Really?” Alfred asked, and laughed as if it was a joke. Francis did not laugh.   
  
“And why not?” Francis said, kissing at Alfred’s neck now. “If it meant seeing _mon lapin_ like this on a regular basis, only a fool would say no.”   
  
Alfred laughed again, but he soon quieted when Francis turned his head and caught Alfred’s lips. He kissed him for a moment, stroking his hands along chest, before letting one hand drift down beneath the waistband of his underwear and stroked Alfred’s quickly hardening cock once. Alfred gasped against his mouth.   
  
Francis pulled away and pulled Alfred back with him. “Come, then, _mon lapin._ I still have many things left to show you.”  
  
Alfred didn’t hesitate.


End file.
